


And I'm Off To The Races

by Spitfire007



Series: GTA Mafia AU [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: F/F, GTA AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-30
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-10 13:39:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1160351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spitfire007/pseuds/Spitfire007
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It has been a weird fucking month for Michael Jones. He ran into some tall prick four weeks ago who turned out to be in the top ten of the FBI’s Most Wanted List. That same bastard then stalked him through the scope of his sniper rifle for nearly a week before Michael finally confronted him. After that, he may have had a week of absolutely amazing sex, but that’s not really the point-- okay? The point is that NOW Michael is part of Geoff Ramsey’s “family” which controls about 75% of everything in Austin. That’s fucking insane right? (Also, He totally thought that the term “family” was only used in mafia movies to refer to someone’s gang but Geoff seems to be a big fan of The Godfather. And the boss also has two boyfriends but that’s...honestly that’s for another day.) The moral of the story, kids, is don’t find mysterious assholes that you run into in back alleys attractive because you will end up in a gang.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. my old man is a bad man

**Author's Note:**

> CW for gendered slurs.

Michael’s day is going as well as it usually does. Fucking shitty.

The fact that he has sold all of his ‘product’ tonight, leaving him with a large wad of cash, doesn’t change the fact that he feels like he’s been run over by a firetruck. He isn’t sure what he’s coming down with, but it needs to seriously fuck off. He has been fighting what feels like flu symptoms for several days now, and has considered going to the Urgent Care center a few blocks away off and on, but brushes the idea away quickly every time. He doesn’t really want to fill out the information sheet and answer questions like: Occupation: _drug dealer_ ; Previous medical conditions: _does getting shot by a bitch ass busta count?_ ; Next of kin: _dead_ ; and finally Who should we notify in case of an emergency? _no one_. Michael can definitely deal without those crushing realities at the moment. He just wants to get home and play some video games to get his mind off of all this shit. Maybe kill a bunch of cops or something? Anything to get his mind off what his place was in this world at this current juncture.

“Easy.”

The word registers before Michael realizes that he is falling backward from being all but run over by a man quickly turning down the alley. The offending man grabs Michael by the arm and yanks him up nearly sending him into the opposite brick wall before he can hit the disgusting ground below them.

“Watch your fucking step, asshole,” Michael spits, pulling out of the firm grip. He glares as he straightens his jacket, which had been yanked off his shoulder during the scuffle, to look at whoever the fuck had decided to use him as a goddamn doormat. The man only raises an eyebrow as he looks at him. He’s taller than Michael and he’s freaking solid. When their bodies had collided, the firm muscle under soft clothing had felt like a brick wall. Michael just sort of blinks at the man, who brushes whatever dirt he seems to think he picked up from Michael off of his black turtleneck with equally expensive looking black leather gloves. _What an asshole_ , Michael groans internally.

“I apologize. I didn’t see you there,” he says. The man’s hand then moves to something behind him, and Michael reacts instantly, pulling a knife out of his own pocket. He flicks the blade open and to his complete surprise the man begins to laugh. Normally, when someone so much as gave Michael a slight side-eye, he was up in that person’s face letting them know that they have absolutely nothing over him. He isn’t some piece of trash that can be kicked out of the way or laughed at.

But this guy. This guy doesn’t seem….stable? Michael thinks that is the word he is looking for. He isn’t going to back down though. He has never backed down from a fight and no bastard wearing too much goddamn black is going to have him running away now. He braces his feet on the harsh pavement that his face is more than likely to meet in the next few minutes, judging by the impressive size of his new rival.

“Cute,” the guy says, and he seems to be absolutely amused by Michael’s little display. His eyes  are nearly shining in the moonlight with mirth as he shakes his head. He looks positively beside himself as he stares down at Michael.

 _What the fuck kind of asshole is he dealing with?_ , Michael wonders. But his utter bemusement is overruled by rage. Fuck all of this. If he was going to die here, then so be it. He wasn’t going to have some wanna-be James Bond-looking-fucker laughing at him in the middle of the night down a piss stained alley.

He lunges and hopes that his sudden aggression will either scare the guy off or his knife will find its mark. For a split second, Michael thinks that the knife is actually going to embed itself in the guy. He sees the man’s arm move as if to block the blow, but he’s too slow. _Shit, please don’t let this actually kill him,_ Michael begs whatever deity may be listening. It would be Michael’s rotten luck that his first time ever having to actually use his knife, ends in him killing some statuesque bastard.

However, what happens next is something that never crossed Michael’s mind. The guy’s large hand easily emcompasses Michael’s, the knife not even scratching him as he grips down around Michael’s hand and twists. Michael feels the tendons, muscles, and whatever-the-fuck-else is under his skin scream out in pain. He drops the knife instantly. It clatters to the ground as his hand is released with his wrist crying out from what feels like total destruction. Michael falls to his knees, gingerly holding his wrist to his chest.

“I repeat, cute,” the stranger says, and his voice has gotten dark or else Michael’s head has gotten fuzzier. He can’t tell which. He wants to drop a smart-aleck comeback, wants the guy to actually drop dead now. He can’t believe that he ever felt guilty that he was going to hurt this crazy motherfucker. The stranger steps closer now, the tips of his boots graze Michael’s knee. “If you are going to pull out a knife, make sure you know how to use it. I could have had you drowning in your blood from a wound dealt with your own knife. Now that would have been embarrassing.”

Michael doesn’t look up. His pride screams at him that he should, that he must meet the maniac’s eyes with his own and hold his stare, but he just doesn't have the strength tonight. The world has suddenly settled down on his shoulders and is making it too hard to lift his head. He expects the final blow or the stranger to simply walk off. Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing after all.   

He’s surprised once again as the guy kneels down next to him and says: “It’s not broken. It’s just sprained. I know my own strength. Go home and ice it. Take a large amount of painkillers and sleep it off. It will be bruised and swollen, but it’s not broken. I wouldn’t do that.”

It’s Michael’s turn to laugh now. He scoffs at the newfound code of conduct the stranger’s adopted. “Yeah, I’m sure you wouldn’t dream of it,” Michael says, rolling his eyes.

The stranger reaches out, grabbing Michael’s chin firmly, tilting his head up to make sure he is looking directly into the stranger’s blue eyes. “I only break things that need to be broken whether it be for a lesson or for crossing my boss,” the guy says and every hair on Michael’s body stands up.

But Michael keeps his bearings and hisses, “Alright, choir boy,” he manages even though his eyes are watering from the pain. He’s terrified, that’s fine. But this fucker doesn’t need to know that.

The asshole nods, standing up and making sure to pull Michael to his feet as well. He rolls his arm and wrist in an extremely practiced way that raises the sleeve of his sweater, allowing him to check the time; his grip on Michael doesn’t loosen. “I should have already been out of here five minutes ago. I would suggest you do the same.”

“Not a problem,” Michael grits out, still holding his wrist to his chest as he tries to pull away.

“Do you have a vehicle?”

Michael only blinks trying to figure out if maybe, just maybe, he’s having some sort of terrible nightmare instead of this fucked up reality.

“Yeah, a motorcycle,” he replies. His words are careful and measured even through the pain. _Why the fuck was this guy making small talk now?_

“That won’t do with your wrist. You should come with me. I have a car parked at the end of this alleyway.”

“Sure, that sounds like a great idea that won’t get me killed and thrown into some ditch downtown,” Michael mumbles under his breath, before finally pulling out of the man’s grip. However, the stranger didn’t put up too much of a fight to keep him there.

“Do whatever you like. I won’t force you. Please be careful on your ride home with that wrist, though. Also, if it doesn’t get better, go to Dr. Free. He works in the shopping district. Tell him Ryan Haywood sent you and you don’t have to worry about paying,” the stranger- Ryan- says before he walks down the alley, leaving Michael standing there alone, feeling like he’s been shaken too hard. The absence of him seems to have sucked all the heat and light from around them, like he took it with him when he left. Michael shivers now from the cold and draws in from what feels like total darkness around him.

He manages to shake it off though. _Careful on your ride home? Says the prick who is the reason the drive is even hazardous in the first place!,_ Michael thinks, shaking his head as he walks swiftly to his motorcycle. He doesn’t want to hang around here any longer. That’s for sure. He tests his wrist, gripping lightly on the handlebars, and whimpers quietly to himself because of the pain. _Dr. Free? The Shopping District? What the actual fuck?,_ He thinks. Still, his wrist hurts like a motherfucker.

What a fucking night. Christ.

*~*~*~*~

Ryan Haywood.

Michael had never thought he would see the man who he had ran into the night before again. He especially didn’t think he would see him on television, but sure as fuck. There he was in all of his goddamn glory.

Well, that wasn’t completely true. The picture they showed was of a tall figure in a black turtleneck, loose jeans, and combat boots. He also wore what had to be the most terrifying skeleton mask on the planet over his face. But Michael knew that body. He knew that light brown hair that looked as if Ryan had just stepped out of a shampoo commercial. He knew the strong build, the solid chest, and the way he tucked his pants into his combat boots. Michael also noticed the black bag that Ryan had been wearing on his back when they ran into each other (well, when Ryan had mistaken him for the fucking floor). It was what he has been reaching into when Michael had pulled his knife out. Apparently, he was right to be jumpy.

“Haywood is currently listed as number nine on the F.B.I’s Most Wanted List. He is suspected of multiple murders, as well as charges for kidnapping, arson, and domestic terrorism. Police believe the brutal murder of local business owner, Lincoln Vanderburg, was his work as well. If you have any information at this time, please call--”

Michael turned off the television and sat staring at the blank screen. _Shit_. Yesterday had already been strange, but now this? He just wasn’t sure where his world was going right now. His thoughts of Ryan, while they hadn’t exactly been positive, were of the impression that he was an asshole, but not a murderer. Then again he did make that whole comment about Michael choking on his own blood….ugh, Maybe he should get his head examined as well as his wrist.

All of last night, he had cursed Ryan’s name. He, of course, iced his wrist and took as many pain pills as he could without borderline overdosing, but Michael was over everything that had happened last night. He just wanted the pain to stop. Michael wasn’t exactly sure if he should go to the doctor that Ryan had suggested since he was a murderer after all, but ….you get free health care where you can. Beggars can’t be choosers and all that cliched shit.

He finds Dr. Free’s office easily, which he is thankful for because he would have rather had Ryan break his neck then have to ask some snooty rich person, with their arms full of shopping bags, for directions. He walks in and is surprised at how small the place is. He had expected a huge, plush waiting room with like couches made out of gold or some dumb shit like that. However, it was just a few chairs sitting around a table scattered with magazines and two comfortable looking couches.

“Oh, hello. Can I help you?” Michael turns to look at the little window where a skinny guy around his age stood.

“Um...yeah, I…” Michael struggles, his tongue tripping over his own words as he walks over to where receptionist is.

“Oooh, that’s a nasty looking bruise you have there,” Caleb, his name badge reads, says as he opens the glass to get a better look.

“Yeah, some asshole did it last night. Then...he recommended I come here?” Michael can only imagine how fucking strange he sounds, but Caleb only nods, making a sympathetic face.

“Umm...let’s see here. May I?” Caleb asks, reaching out to examine the purple, green, and blue wrist. His hands are soft and easy. “Looks like Ryan’s handiwork. He always seems to be able to get everything absolutely strained without actually breaking anything.”

“Yeah, Ryan Haywood. That’s what he said his name was. Massive asshole,” _and confirmed murderer from what the television told me._

Caleb only laughs before he pulls out a piece of paper. He seems very nice for someone who’s associated with a person that was labeled a domestic terrorist. _Takes all kinds._ Michael winces not wanting to fill anything out, knowing that his dominant hand is the damaged one, but Caleb doesn’t hand him anything. “I just need to tell Dr. Free a few things before we send you back there. Have a seat.”

Michael nods simply walking over to the closest chair. It takes about five minutes before the door opens to the receptionist office. He expects to see Caleb but instead, a guy around his age is looking at clipboard. He is wearing tight skinny jeans and a simple red and white striped polo shirt. His hair and nose are both far too exaggerated for his face.

“This is some sort of joke, right,” Michael demands, feeling even more embarrassed than he had walking the fancy streets to the doctor in his ratty jeans.

Dr. Free frowns, looks around his office, “What?”

“You can’t be a fucking doctor. Where is your fucking lab coat and ….like that thing that you use to hear someone’s heart?”

“My stethoscope is in the exam room. If you wanna follow me in there, we can examine your wrist,” Dr. Free says calmly, his voice is heavily accented.

“Oh god, is this one of those places that they take your organs out and sell them on the black market,” Michael says frantically. Michael knows he sounds paranoid, but he’s been in a state of  panic since last night. He knew he shouldn’t have come here. There was no way that this place could be legit. His chest begins to rise and fall far too quickly for him to truly catch a breath. His vision starts to cloud slightly and his knees lock and buckle. Dr. Free is there instantly, putting a steady arm around his waist to keep him up.

“Caleb, quick, help me get him into the exam room,” Dr.Free calls, Michael hears it faintly before everything goes black.

When he wakes, he is in a super comfortable chair with a blanket tucked around him. His eyes slowly adjust, and he realizes he is in someone’s office. The large polished oak desk, which was the main feature of the room, is in a slightly messy stage with post-it notes and pens scattered over it. Michael shifts up from his reclining position and eases the blanket off himself, hoping to God he still has two kidneys. He doesn’t find any surgical scars, only a new brace on his wrist. His wrist from which only a dull ache is springing. So….Dr. Free is an actual doctor. That was good to know.

Michael stands up, letting the blanket slip back into the chair. He isn’t exactly sure what he should do in this situation. He knows that he had a panic attack, a very bad one at that. He used to have them when he was younger, but it has been years since one of that severity had laid him out. He is exhausted, but it just feels strange to sit in someone else’s chair. He has to stand and start moving around the room. As he does, he notices the various pictures hanging around the room and sitting on Dr. Free’s desk.

 _So it’s weird to sit in someone’s chair, but it is completely acceptable to go through their things?,_ Michael thinks, frowning slightly at himself. But he can’t help that the large shelves behind him hold pictures, as well as a large collection of books. There are three different diplomas framed sitting on the lower shelf, so ‘Gavin David Free’ was indeed a doctor and he trained at John Hopkins, apparently. Michael was glad that was confirmed at the first least. There are several photos of Gavin with many other people. Including one of him and Ryan. They are at some sort of amusement park. Gavin’s hand is laying on that strong chest of Ryan’s and he was --

 _Wait a fucking second? Is this Ryan’s boyfriend? Was that why he could just send poor fuckers to Dr. Free and everything was taken care of?_ And no, he did not just describe Ryan’s chest as strong. That is a simple adjective his mind has added without his consent. Michael tries to push any thoughts that aren’t completely negative about Ryan away. His eyes dart to the next picture. There was another man in this one with Gavin. He looked extremely familiar. His dark hair, sleepy eyes, tattooed arms. _Where the fuck had he seen him?!_  Michael looks around the room for more clues and keeps coming face to face with the same man. His eyes then stop on a newspaper clipping on the wall.

_Geoff Ramsey Named Businessman of the Year._

That’s right! He owns like half of Austin. Gavin’s body language seems to be much looser in Geoff’s photos. They are closer together, Geoff’s hand is on Gavin’s hip in front of some important looking building, they are sitting next to each other at what looks like an expensive restaurant, they….

Michael sighs at his own self. His eyes find the key photo he needs to explain the various questions in his mind. Geoff and Gavin are laid out on a hotel bed, Gavin’s head is on one of Geoff’s arms as they both fiddle with Ipads. Wait, _who the fuck was taking the photo though? They are taking selfies to a whole other level that was for sure._

“I’m glad you are feeling better.” Gavin’s voice says from behind Michael. He startles and knows he is shining bright red from having been caught.

“I’m sorry, I was just curious. It has a been a crazy two days,” Michael apologizes.

“Not a problem. I’d be confused as well. Michael, right?”

“Yeah, wait...I didn’t tell your receptionist that,” He counters.

Gavin only shrugs, “You showed him your license.”

Michael frowns. Did he? He didn’t remember that. He can't even remember the last time _he_ even saw his license. 

Gavin walks over to where Michael is and picks up the photo of him and Geoff in what looks like Paris. “Geoff Ramsey? I’m sure you have heard of him.”

“Yeah. Guessing you are fucking him?”

Gavin’s eyebrows raise slightly but he doesn’t say anything. “Yeah, me and him.” Gavin motions toward a picture in the corner of someone else sitting next to Geoff with a video game controller in his hand.

“Ohhhh...well. That’s...you know. People ….” Michael wants to punch himself in the face. What the fuck was happening with his goddamn words today?

“His name is Ray,” Gavin says, filling him in even though Michael could definitely do without the information at the moment. He was overloaded enough. He did not need to hear about his doctor’s polyamorous relationship.

“I guess some people just need more sex than others,” Michael offers.  He’s seriously beginning to entertain the idea that Gavin was actually a black market organ doctor that stole his brain when he was passed out, because sweet jesus he was a mess.

“I use to say that about Ryan because well...you know.” Gavin grins making a very strange face at Michael.

“No, I’m not following.”

“You know, good things don’t always come in small packages. Sometimes they come in the jeans of a tall, rugged bastard because he has a huge--”

“AH!” It’s out before can stop himself. Michael doesn’t even know why he made a noise. It just jumped out of his throat. It causes Gavin to frown.

“Wait, you aren’t Ryan’s new boyfriend?!”

Michael stares at him. Was he back in some strange dream again? “No. I am not. That. Just no.”

Gavin’s eyes immediately go down to the papers at his desk. “Who are you then?” He demands, his expression becoming dark and hooded.

“I’m Michael...you said...Ryan nearly broke my wrist last night, remember?”

“During rough sex, right?”

“What?! NO! Jesus Christ.”

Gavin groans sitting down in one of the chairs opposite of where Michael had been. “I just assumed because you said Ryan sent you.”

“He did though.  Wait--What does he usually break his boyfriend’s wrists?! --Nevermind, I don’t want to know.” Michael begins to feel panicky again and tries to push it down.

“No, no! But accidents happen and all. ...So what happened with you and Ryan?” Gavin asks looking very tired suddenly.

“Last night, he knocked me over. I thought he was going to pull a gun on me at some point so I tried to scare him off with a knife and then he did this to me!” Michael explains quickly, shoving the brace at Gavin for emphasis.

“Last night?”

“Yeah.” Gavin’s eyes narrow slightly then before he leans back into the chair and shrugs. “Well sounds like you have had a bloody crazy few days.”

“Yeah, but he told me to come here,” Michael offers, not really like the strained vibe he is getting from the doctor now.

Gavin smiles then and like that he looks like the weight on his shoulders has lifted instantly. “Well, we got you patched up. Here are your meds. It is for the pain and the bad cold you are trying to get. Follow the instructions. If something else comes up, don’t hesitate to drop by and I will try to help.”

Michael takes the two bottles of pills gracefully. “I’m sorry if I caused you any confusion, I am really grateful. My wrist already feels better.”

“It’s not a problem. It’s my fault. I usually only see people that work for Geoff, and not,” Gavin pauses choosing his words carefully, “non-family.”

“Okay…well thanks.”

Michael awkwardly shuffles out of the office, glancing back to see Gavin with his head in his hands. He bites at his lip for a few moments slightly worried that he has messed something truly important up. He holds the medication close as he nods back at Caleb’s wave before he leaves the office.

Michael gets home quickly and wants nothing more than to sleep off the confusion and exhaustion of recent events. He isn’t exactly sure where he needs to go from here, but right now he wants to forget everything about Ryan Haywood. Especially his possible murder connections, his creepy skeleton mask, and his strong chest that Michael wanted to …

_God-fucking-damnit!_


	2. but I can't deny the way he holds my hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW casual ableism, stalking

Sapphic Sprinkles

 _Fucking amazing, Griffon._ Michael stands outside in the bright sunlight and tries to hide his out of place smile as he stares at the black and pink flashing sign. So she had done it after all, and she had stuck with the name as well. _Good for her._ He takes in the sight of the bustling cupcake shop with something that had to be pride manifesting inside his chest. (He was all too aware that he didn’t fucking deserve its warmth though.) The feeling certainly doesn’t erase his anxiety over the long overdue reunion which was currently bouncing around in his lungs, constricting his chest with every breath. He didn’t know if Griffon would be happy to see him again. She really fucking shouldn’t be with the shitty way he left. What if there was some sort of terrible scene and her customers were insulted by his presence?  He couldn’t live with himself if he messed up her life again.

The blinking sign wasn’t as welcoming as before. He should just go. That was the only possible way that this would work out well. He should just live with the crushing reality of his own loneliness and work out for himself if he should date a suspected murdered or not. Wow, when he laid it out like that he felt his lungs nearly fill with dread at how his shitty life is about to become even fucking worse.

 _I’m a fucking idiot._ Michael groans cursing himself for making the trip down here in the first place. Now, he had to get another fucking taxi or worse, take the bus.  He had lost his license long ago and never had a reason to get a new one. But riding the bus for nearly an hour back home? Ugh. Why of all his impulses did he have to give into this one? He was a goddamn human disaster.

“Nice tattoos,” a voice calls from behind four large cardboard boxes. Michael blinks trying to see the owner of the voice but is met only by the large black print of SUGAR stamped onto each package.

“Thanks.” He says flatly, not really sure what to do with the compliment. He doesn’t think he can deal with any sort of conversation right now, let alone a nice comment. All he wants to do right now is wallow in the fact that he’s lost and unable to function like a normal person.

“Look, I’m glad chivalry is dead and all, but do you think you can open the door for me?” She asks causing Michael to jump instantly into action. He grabs the metal handle to open the door for her.

“Yeah, yeah, sorry was just….”

“Contemplating life’s big decisions in front of a vegan cupcake shop? Yep, sounds completely do-able,” She laughs as she moves to take the heavy load into the store.

“Here let me help you,” Michael offers, grabbing three of the four boxes out of her hands. _Jesus Christ, this shit was fucking heavy!_ She looks slightly offended for a moment before shrugging and carrying the other box inside, keeping her foot on the bottom of the door so Michael can follow.

“Dan, I think I found you a nice strapping young man,” she calls at the handsome cashier who only rolls his eyes at her. Michael doesn’t miss that the dark haired man does watch him with liquid black eyes as he walks past him though.

“She’s waiting for you, Lindsay. Having a small meltdown actually,” Dan explains, his British accent heavy on his tongue as Michael tries not to get too distracted by his looks and follows Lindsay into the back.

“There you are! I can’t cook cupcakes without sugar. I still can’t believe that we haven’t got our shipment yet. It’s been nearly two weeks. Did you get enough or did you -- Oh Jesus Christ, Lindsay, this is ridiculous,” Michael can hear Griffon saying. “Did you buy all the sugar in Austin?!”

“I’d say about a forth of it. I just wanted to make sure that we had enough until our next truck arrived this week.” Lindsay explains before dropping the large box of sugar down onto the tile floor.  She turns her attention to Michael. “You can sit yours on top of that one.”

“Did you bring along a new hire? Is he like Dan because we have a certain attractiveness standard to live up to with you and our British minx working here. I have to keep the customers happy.” Griffon asks causing Michael to swallow. Here goes nothing. He lets the impossibly heavy boxes ( _seriously how did Lindsay make it look so weightless?_ ) go and land with a loud thud on top of the other box.

“Hey,” He breathes out, dusting the nonexistent sugar off of his shirt not wanting to look Griffon directly in the eyes for fear of what he might see there.

Michael’s not sure what he expects to happen. It’s been nearly two years since he snuck out of Griffon’s house and never looked back. He had wanted to call her a million times and explain that he was the worst person in the world. But when he could finally stomach his guilt, the number he dialed was disconnected. He had never felt so cold and alone in his life. The clammy chill still seemed to cling to him now.

But now, standing across from her caused him more anxiety than he had ever felt. That included the whole fiasco that happened with Ryan last week and everything else that had happened since.

Griffon hasn’t said a word. She is just staring at where Michael is standing with an unreadable expression. Lindsay keeps looking between them with a frown unsure of what to do. Michael doesn’t blame her. He wished he knew what the hell to do as well. _Maybe..._

“I can go if you want…” Michael starts, wanting everything but that. Just seeing her now makes him feel as if there wasn’t completely alone again and he really didn’t want to lose that feeling so soon again.

“I thought you died,” she whispers, moving then. Her long arms wrapping around him tightly as he tries to breathe. It was how close they were causing that feeling not the long lost feeling of someone caring for him. His eyes aren’t watering and his fingers aren’t grasping at her like a child reunited with his mother. _That fucking bullshit isn’t for me, okay? And what if I fucking missed her? Fuck off._

“You didn’t have much faith in me if you thought I was dead,” Michael huffs out a laugh, his fingers clutching at the strings on the back of her apron. He tries to make his voice as clear of the emotions scratching at his throat to get out as possible. He’s pretty positive he fails.

She reaches down, pushing off his beanie before laying a kiss in his curls. Her eyes are full of tears as she looks down at him as if he is some sort of precious thing. Fuck, yeah, he is failing at hiding his own emotions.  “You jackass, the paper said you were killed in horrible car accident. I paid for your fucking funeral.”

Michael can feel the hot tears then and tries to swallow down his own. “I...I don’t read the paper much,” Griffon laughs then, squeezing him tighter. Her hands don’t feel as soft as they use to but their firm pressure against him feel absolutely amazing.

“I’m gonna go help Dan,” Lindsay says before leaving the kitchen, knowing that they need their privacy.

“How long have you had the shop?” Michael asks into Griffon’s flour covered shoulder, not really caring that he is getting it all over himself. He just wants to keep his eyes closed and have this amazing feeling of fucking stability and normalcy. God, who knew that fucking routine and stagnation would sound so nice in someone’s head?

“Don’t try to change the subject, Michael Jones. Where have you been?” Griffon asks pulling back but not letting go of his shoulders.

He refused to tell her how badly he was doing, not after she had tried so hard to give him a way out, “Here and there.”

“Michael. I deserve a little explanation.” Her hands have now moved to her hips. He tries not to stare at the jagged scar on her arm, but the sudden sucker punch of guilt makes sure he is well aware that it is there and that he was the cause of it.

“I’ve just been here in Austin. I made sure to stay away from your blocks because I didn’t want you to pick me up again. Did you move to a different precinct?” Michael asks waving his hand at the cupcake shop.

“No, I...I left the police force after you….after I thought you had died. I didn’t have the heart to do it anymore. Every kid I arrested looked just like you,” Griffon explains, sighing deeply.

Even dead he was a fucking menace to Griffon. “Oh...well, sorry about that. Didn’t really mean to cause you anymore issues.”

Griffon’s tears seem to stop then, her face becomes stern. She looks absolutely determined to get him to understand. “Michael, you never caused me any trouble. I told you that. What happened was not your fault. I have had much worse here. I can’t tell you how many times I have burned myself.”

Michael doesn’t say anything just sort of looks around trying to stop his mind from bringing that memory to the forefront. The images begin to flash in his head anyway. _Griffon ruffling his hair as she gets up to answer the doorbell. The red ink from Griffon’s pen showing him where he needed to correct his grammar on his Senior English essay. The familiar voice belonging to his ex-dealer who he had thrown the drugs he was told to sell back in his face earlier that day swearing that he was going to finish high school and make something of himself. Then Griffon’s yell for Michael to come say hello to his friend from school. Him thinking very clearly, I don’t have any friends at school, before he hears Griffon’s yell of pain._ The memory blurred together after that. It just became flashing red and blue lights and the sight of blood dripping down Griffon’s arm.

Michael had never felt so guilty in his life. It was his fault the dealer had attacked Griffon. She had been the first person who had ever shown any concern for him in his life. His last foster parents hadn’t even looked for him when he had left to find a place of his own at 17. Griffon had busted him on a street corner the very next day. He had been living with her for the last five months after that. She had been determined that he would graduate high school.

He had never felt stability like that. That night, he had began to pack everything he figured he needed to survive the night. Even as she laid in a hospital bed for what he had done. He had never felt so low in his life. Sometimes life was not fucking fair. But he would have never been able to stay with the guilt constantly hanging over his head. Also, he had to find his ex-dealer who he had beat the ever living shit out of. He still wasn’t sure if he had killed him or not.

However, Michael had absolutely no idea that he had been assumed and wondered who it actually was for a brief second before noticing Griffon was just staring at him.

“I’m really sorry I disappeared when you were getting stitched up,” Michael offers, but Griffon just waves her hand. Apparently, that wasn’t what she was thinking about.

“It’s fine, just I honestly can’t believe you are alive. The boy they found was burned beyond recognition. He had your license on him and the driver was someone who bought from you, I just….assumed. If I had known Michael, I would have come looking for you.”

“I guess that’s where my license went. I could never find it.” Michael offers but he knows it isn’t going to help the time Griffon has had to deal with the pain of losing him. Deep down in some weird sick place, he’s kinda glad to know that she mourned him. Nice to know someone would.

“Yeah...I...tried to call you?”

Griffon’s whole face scrunches up and she grabs Michael again, squeezing even tighter. “Oh sweetheart. I am so sorry. After your funeral, I moved. I wanted to start my business. Something fresh and new that brought people happiness.”

He doesn’t blame her. Fuck, he could never blame Griffon for anything in the world. “Yeah, yeah, I’m really glad. I was thrilled when I saw it. I found it through googling your name your name.”

“I kept the name,” she whispers, remembering fondly the conversation that she and Michael had about what to name her future cupcake store. He was worried about her having such a gay-friendly place in the middle of Texas. but she, as usual, didn’t give a fuck about what people thought of her.

“Sapphic Sprinkles is so fucking gay, Griffon. Christ.” Michael laughs, closing his eyes as he feels her long nails scratch lightly at the nape of his neck. A nice soft memory of him with is head in her lap as she played with his hair as some episode of Law and Order played in the foreground smothered his mind. He really got use to that wonderful domestic mother/son shit.

“I know, but I wanted everyone to know that I was a proud lesbian selling the best vegan cupcakes in Austin,” Griffon says, grinning. She cups his jaw slightly as if amazed at how much he has filled out since she last saw him.

“I think the plaid, undercut, and tattoos give that away pretty clearly.” Michael laughs.

“Hey, she’s far too gorgeous for that stereotypical bullshit,” Lindsay says softly from where she has been eavesdropping. Griffon and Michael both turn their attention to her.

“Ah, Lindsay, sorry. I want you to meet someone,” Griffon says waving her over. Lindsay nearly fucking bounces over causing Michael to frown slightly at her exuberance. “You remember me talking about Michael, right?”

“Yeah, poor kid,” Lindsay whispers as if it was a heavy memory.

“This is him, Linds. He’s okay. He’s been alive this whole time, just….hiding. He’s okay.” Griffon’s voice breaks slightly much to Michael and Lindsay’s distress. She cards her fingers through Michael’s hair again fondly.

“Hey, it’s okay.” “Griffon, it’s okay.” They both say causing Griffon to laugh softly as she wipes the tears from her eyes.

“Stop fussing over me. I’m just a little emotional.” Griffon says smacking both of them upside the head.

“Ah, I see that hasn’t changed,” Michael grins.

“Not a lot has, but also…” She looks at Lindsay with a soft smile. “A lot has as well.”

*~*~*~*

“So she comes into my pastry class and says--” Lindsay grins, elbowing Griffon as if to illustrate to Michael that this is where the story is about to get good.

“Oh god, don’t tell him this story, please,” Griffon groans, running her fingers through her multicolored hair.

“He asked how we met, I am going to tell him the story.”

“Can’t you just tell him we met at a pastry class?” Griffon begs, putting her sharp chin down on her tattooed arms. She is beaming though as she tries to hide her smile in her pale arms.

“No, that’s boring. He deserves to hear that _wonderful_ story,” Dan calls from where he is counting the money from the till. The store had closed hours ago, but Michael can’t leave the cosy little booth that he has found himself in across from Griffon and Lindsay. The warm, delicious coffee that Dan had made ‘special’ just for him had been empty for hours. However, he doesn’t move to throw it away. He thinks even if someone came in and yelled ‘fire!’, he’d stay just where he is right across from Griffon and Lindsay as it burned around them. _Though he’d hope they wouldn’t be as stupid as him and would actually run away, but that..._

“So,” Lindsay begins bringing Michael out of his own head, “I was teaching a pastry class at the local community center. Just a little something to make extra money and a terrible excuse to eat sweet things other people made. Griffon signed up for one of my classes.”

“I just wanted to make sure that I knew everything before I started the business. It never hurts to learn new information about something you think you know everything about,” Griffon explains.

“Whatever. I think she just saw my picture on the website and thought I was bangable.” Lindsay grins. Michael tries not to laugh into his empty cup.

“Your picture wasn’t on the website,” Griffon counters.

Lindsay mouth forms a smirk. “My name sounded tasty then.”

Michael raises an eyebrow, but the conversation didn’t go any further down that road. Lindsay continues. “So it was completely obvious that she knew everything there was to know about baking. I mean, she taught _me_ things! I told her that she was amazing and didn’t need this class. That I would totally refund her.”

“But I already had a crush on her. I mean, who wouldn’t she’s gorgeous.” Griffon smiles brushing a strand of hair out of Lindsay’s face who rolls her eyes slightly, but her cheeks flush a light pink. “So I wanted to stay.”

“And she came up with the worst excuse in the world to do that.”

“I swear I honestly didn’t know how to frost a cupcake well!” Griffon protests.

Lindsay only stares at Michael across the table with a look of utter disbelief. He couldn’t even count how many times Griffon had made him cupcakes and had frosted every one of them perfectly. The designs she could weave with icing were truly amazing. He was always fucking impressed. She was like some sort of Van Vinci or Da Gogh. _Those were their names right?_

“So, we are doing cupcakes in class one night and Griffon keeps messing up. Icing is everywhere. I mean everywhere. All over the pans, the counter, bowls, spoons, Griffon’s hands, clothes, other people’s clothes, the ceiling...you get the picture I am trying to paint here. It’s just terrible. So I try to teach her right? Well, she keeps grabbing the piping bag too tightly or too soft and it’s just a mess. Griffon is a terrible liar so I just let her carry on with her bad self getting blue icing absolutely everything. Class finally ends and she still hasn’t mastered it. So I offered her some private lessons.”

“Private lessons?” Michael asks, his voice high and light.

“Yep,” Lindsay confirms.

“In cupcake icing?” Michael inquires, an eyebrow raising slightly.

“Yep.”

“Something she could do in her sleep.” Michael can’t help the grin on his face when he sees Griffon’s ears turning red.

“Absolutely.”

“How long did it take you two to just start making out on the counter tops?”

“Now, Mr. Jones, that would highly inappropriate,” Lindsay laughs.

“-And unhygienic,” Griffon adds.

“Yeah, I guess you have a point--,” Michael muses.

“We waited until she came back to my place that night.” Lindsay winks.

Michael laughs then. It’s loud and full bodied. He hasn’t laughed this hard and long in years. Warmth seems to flow through him, even to his usually freezing fingertips. The wide smile on his face he has had since he first sat down is beginning to hurt but he can’t stop smiling. His happiness seems to be bubbling over.

“You should stay here tonight,” Griffon says making Michael blink.

“I couldn’t.”

“It’s already dark and you live how far from here?”

“Forty five minutes.”

“Yes, stay. We have a guest room or you could stay with Dan,” Griffon offers, wiggling her eyebrows at Michael suggestively.

“No offense, but not interested.” Dan calls.

“None taken.” Michael laughs. “She was always trying to set me up with someone.”

Dan nods. “Likewise.”

“I just want to make sure that you are getting the proper ….exercise.”

“It’s these type of conversations where I question why I think of you like a mom,” Michael says, and pretends he doesn’t catch the way Griffon’s breath intakes sharply. His mouth seemed to just vomit words at the worst possible times.

Lindsay doesn’t let it fall silent, “So _are_ you seeing anyone?”

Michael stares down at his fingernails. _Here we go. All aboard the Michael wants to date an assassin train. Toot Toot, Motherfuckers._ “Well, that’s kinda what I came here to talk to you about.”

Griffon frowns but doesn’t say anything only places her hand over his. “You know I would never judge you. I just want what is best for you.”

“I think you might judge me for this one,” Michael stammers out a nervous laugh.

“Michael, I’d…”

“Let’s hear him out and then we can decide if he is a weirdo,” Lindsay teases.

“Right so…, about a week ago. I was umm...working…” Michael swallows. Fuck, he didn’t want Griffon to know he was still dealing.

“Go on,” Griffon urges not questioning him. He could tell she knew anyway. He was so shit at hiding anything from her.

“Well, I ran into this guy. Actually, _he_ ran into **me**. But that’s not the point. He was….” Michael groans pushing his head into his hands and yanking at his curls. He was an absolute idiot and Griffon was going to kill him. What the fuck was he thinking? “He...shit. I’m not exactly sure how to say this.”

“Take your time.”

“Well, he was an absolute prick, to be perfectly honest. I thought he was going to pull a gun--.” Griffon opens her mouth to say something, but Lindsay’s hand squeezes her hand to quiet her. “But, he didn’t. I had already grabbed my knife and I tried to like stab him, but not really hurt him and then he nearly broke my wrist.”

Griffon’s eyes narrow slightly, her nostrils flare much to Michael’s concern. “He did what now?”

“I think it was like automatic, like he was super skilled in fighting. It was some ninja shit. Like have you seen Naruto because I have been binge marathoning that show on Hulu and he’s sort of really fast like them and--” Michael can see that he had lost both of them so he shifts the conversation. “After, he tries to take me home but I am like ‘dude, you just broke my fucking wrist. why would I go home with you?’ and he sort of agreed with that line of thought because you know it was the fucking logical thing to do. Anyway, he sent me to this really nice British doctor.”

“Oh?” Dan calls, perking up.

“Sorry, he’s taken. Twice actually. He’s dating two guys. Geoff Ramsey is one of them, so I wouldn’t get your hopes up.” Michael explains.

“Geoff Ramsey?” Griffon demands, her eyes never leaving Michael’s.

“Yeah.”

“Was the doctor’s name Gavin Free?” Griffon asks. Michael can already see that she might have a really good idea of where this is going.

“Yeah, actually.”

“Oh Michael, what have you gotten yourself into? You always did have a knack for getting into bad situations,” Griffon sighs, but it feels like she screamed it at Michael. He flinches slightly, curling up a bit around himself as he thinks about maybe taking that as his cue to leave. It was one thing for him to constantly berate himself for being an idiot and getting into situations that didn’t have any good possible outcomes, but….it still stung to hear it from Griffon. “But also an amazing talent of getting out of them.”

Michael lets out the unconscious breathe of air he took in. “Do you know Dr. Free?” Michael asks afraid of the answer.

“Yes, his father controlled nearly all of Austin’s businesses at one point. He was incredibly skilled at organized crime. Some of the stories people told about him felt as if they came off the pages of a mafia novel.”

“Well that would explain the whole ‘family’ comment Dr. Free made. So is his dad retired or something?” Michael asks, curious as to why Mr. Ramsey was now the head of ...whatever mafia people called their organizations nowadays.

Griffon stared at Michael as if to gauge how she should word her next sentence. “He was killed, violently, Michael. Him and Geoff Ramsey were involved in a very bad drive by. It was sort of an ironic scene. David Free was obsessed with the mafia image and tried to make himself look like some sort of 20s gangster as often as possible. The fact that he was gunned down with automatic weapons was not lost on anyone. Ramsey was in a coma for two months after. I went down there on one of my first days on the force, because my partner and I were sent to collect some evidence. I remember that Free was said to have not left Ramsey’s bedside. It was a terrible thing. We all hoped that maybe Ramsey would get a wake up call, but….”

Michael was silent. He didn’t know what to say. It was clear that Griffon was telling him this so he was aware of what he was walking into too. “Can’t imagine how hard it would be to have your dad die and then your boyfriend be in a coma. Crazy.”

“And what exactly do they have to do with you dating anyone?” Griffon asks and her voice is stern. _Yep, this was a terrible decision. Way to go, Michael. Another amazing idea to add to your fucking idiot list._

“Well, um the guy who hurt my wrist….His name is Ryan Haywood.” _Please don’t know him, please, please, please._

“I’ve heard of him.” Griffon says flatly. _Well, shit._

“Yeah, um, so the last few days I have been seeing him. Like….”

“In your dreams?” Lindsay offers. Michael would laugh if the situation wasn’t so fucking tense at the table.

“No, I mean...well yeah, I’ve been having those types of dreams as well but no, like outside my apartment and when I went grocery shopping and then I have been getting packages.”

“All from him?” Griffon questions, looking everything but impressed.

“What’s in them?” Lindsay asks. Griffon rolls her eyes slightly at the slight excitement in Lindsay’s voice, but waits for the answer.

“Well, the first one was a watch. This...this watch actually,” Michael says. He squirms slightly as he pulls up his hoodie’s sleeve to show both of them the sleek black and silver watch, with a fuckton of functions.

“That looks expensive,” Griffon states. As Lindsay whistles, “Nice.”

“Yeah, I really like it.”

“And you have no issues taking a watch from a wanted and known murderer?” Griffon asks, her voice even but free of judgement. There it was. Laid out plainly for Michael to take and absorb, but his heart did a little sputter of pain. He had no idea of how to convey that although he was confused and yeah, maybe a little frightened as to what might happen. He really had feelings for Ryan. He knew how fucking crazy it sounded. He was well fucking aware. Had spent many nights lying awake trying to convince himself that it was the just the idea that he had someone’s attention or maybe the thrill of adventure. But, in the quiet of the bedroom around 3 a.m., he thought of Ryan’s fingers on his face and the way his eyes held something very soft in them. How solid he was, and Michael--Michael was not afraid to say that he would like to be be whisked away like some fairy princess. But there weren’t any goddamn dragons or knights in this world, so why the fuck could he not be rescued from his shitty life by some gorgeous hitman.

_Oh god, he was already a lost cause._

“He….He also leaves notes….I…” Michael tries, hoping to get Griffon to fall down the rabbit hole with him.

Griffon sighs. “Let’s see them.”

Michael reaches into his bag pulling out three folded notes. Griffon takes them with slight disdain, but doesn’t voice it even if it is written all over her face. She flips through the first fairly quickly and then sighs at Michael over the second one. She doesn’t even read the third one; only hands them to Lindsay who makes a soft noise at them.

“Oh poems,” Lindsay conveys the reason that Griffon seems so distraught. Michael had always had a soft spot for hopeless romance. She had caught him countless times watching the sappiest fucking movies. She had told him just how adorable she thought it was that a tough guy like him went all gooey over a bit of romance.

“Yeah, he always seems to put a bit of poetry in them,” Michael explains, trying to keep his face neutral.

“And he’s is a murderer….right?” Lindsay asks and the hope in her voice makes Michael warm to her even more.

“He’s a fucking hitman for Ramsey. He’s on the goddamn FBI’s most wanted list, Michael. You can not be serious,” Griffon fumes.

“Wish I wasn’t,” Michael mumbles staring down at the counter. “Listen, it’s why I came. I don’t know what to do, okay? I can’t fucking sleep because I dream of him and when I wake up, I have fucking packages that are really expensive and nice and things I have always wanted, but I can’t fucking afford. Have never been able to afford. And he writes fucking notes with goddamn poems. Like I had to look this shit up. That one is…”

“The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock,” Lindsay says causing Michael to nod.

“Yeah and Wikipedia told me it like started Modernist poetry or some shit like that. Like I don’t know what that means, but it sounds pretty cool and I like the part that he included for me.”

Lindsay scans through the note again. Haywood apologizing once more for hurting Michael and for not being able to do more for him. He also says he hopes that Michael likes the watch because he noticed Michael didn’t have one and it might come in handy(!). Lindsay especially enjoyed the little exclamation point at having made a pun. The poem except definitely caught her complete attention though.

_And indeed there will be time_

_For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,_

_Rubbing its back upon the window panes;_

_There will be time, there will be time_

_To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;_

_There will be time to murder and create,_

_And time for all the works and days of hands_

_That lift and drop a question on your plate;_

_Time for you and time for me;_

“I wonder if he picked those stanzas for the irony or if he really likes the poem like I do,” Lindsay wondered out loud. She doesn't mention the sexual nature in those particular lines since Griffon was already on the defensive. 

Michael makes a frustrated noise. “Look, I know this is all fucking crazy and everything, but I never get nice gifts or fucking poems. Like that is classy shit. Everytime I see him, my stomach just sort of drops and I get all blah.” Michael breathes, his hands flailing out as if to show what his body experiences.

“Wow.”

“Lindsay,” Griffon warns. She didn’t like how Lindsay wasn’t taking this situation completely serious like she was.

“I just want your advice, Griffon. I know what I should do. I should just ignore everything because you know the FBI wants him and all, but you know, I break the law too?”

“Michael, he does a little bit more than sell drugs on the street. He kills people.”

“And I’m sure my product has killed people too.”

“This is not the same and you know it,” Griffon nearly growls. “Do you want my honest opinion?”

“Yeah, that’s why I came down here.” Michael swallows, his shoulders lowering as his readies himself for the inevitable refusal.

Griffon steadies herself. “Here it is. I think that you should--”

“Sleep on it!” Lindsay interrupts throwing her hands out between them causing both Griffon and Michael to look at her.

“What?” They both ask.

“I think we should all sleep on it. It’s late. Dan’s already left. We are all tired. I think a good night’s sleep will help everyone decide.”

“I already know what I think,” Griffon insists, but Lindsay pulls her hand up to kiss at the knuckles.

“Well, I’m tired so we can talk about it more in the morning.” And with that, it’s decided. Michael watches Lindsay effectively end the conversation. He’s impressed to say the least. And grateful. So fucking grateful.

*~*~*~

Given the circumstances, Michael feels like he has had the best night of sleep in his life as he walks down the stairs to where the cupcake shop is. He really liked Griffon and Lindsay’s house above the cupcake shop. He didn’t know if it was the many works of art that reminded him so vividly of when he was living with Griffon or if it was the never disappearing smell of sweet frosting that hung in the air.

Griffon had left him a note to come down when he woke up. The smell of hot coffee and food cooking causes Michael’s stomach to rumble dangerously loud.

“He lives!” Dan calls far too awake for so early in the morning as Michael walks down the stairs into where the kitchen is. Lindsay is already pulling several large baking tins out of the ovens as Griffon frosts countless rows of cupcakes. Michael wishes he could wake up every morning to such a nice warm sight instead of the rundown kitchen he walks into each morning.

“I never thought you would be such a morning person,” Michael muses as he watches Griffon place the finished cupcakes into the display cases.

“I’m not really, but Dan’s coffee makes me seem like one,” She laughs.

“Yeah, I can actually see that. It seems like he works magic on whatever you order.”

Dan blushes slightly before looking at Michael with a very serious face. “Do you want to know how I make the coffee taste so good?”

“He comes in it,” Lindsay says offhandedly. Michael is slightly shocked at the fact that no one even reacts to that comment which makes him like her even more. Yeah, she was a great match for Griffon.

“No, it’s the cocaine,” Dan corrects.

Griffon just shakes her head. “It’s because he’s attractive. It really helps the flavor.”

Michael can’t really argue with that logic. If he wasn’t in so much goddamn turmoil, he’s prolly try to see if he had a chance with Dan. Speaking of his current relationship problems, Michael looks at Griffon worrying his bottom lip with his teeth before addressing her. “So...you were going to tell me about what you thought about me and Ryan?”

Griffon stops in the middle of frosting another cupcake to sigh. She looks over at Lindsay who nods. Michael isn’t exactly sure as to what that means but he did hear Lindsay and Griffon talking last night before he passed out on their nice soft guest bed.

“Against my best judgement and every gut instinct I have, I am going to say you should give him a chance. Only because Lindsay pointed out that he has never killed anyone I would consider ‘innocent’. That we know of! But they have all been bad people and he does seem to really like you. I don’t know. I do want you to have a better life because you deserve it. I think this is absolutely ridiculous, but …”

“Everyone deserves a chance to love who they want,” Lindsay finishes. Griffon stops frosting the cupcake but it doesn’t look as nice as the others. She pushes it over to Lindsay who rubs her hands together happily as she takes the sugary reject.

“But if at any moment, he seems like the murdering, I want you to get out of there. You can move in with me and I will blow his head off with my shotgun if he tries to do anything to you. Don’t think for a second that I would hesitate, hitman or not,” Griffon threatens. Michael knows she means it too.

“Thanks. I don’t know why I think this will even work but thanks for letting me try it,” Michael smiles. Griffon doesn’t return it but nods. It’s enough for Michael.

His heart and chest both settles down for the first time in a week. Nothing has really shifted into place but it seems easier to find the pieces he needs now. However, Lindsay looks a little upset as she stares at Griffon. She keeps clearing her throat in between bites of cupcake.

“What?!” Griffon finally demands, but Lindsay doesn’t even blink unlike Michael who jumps at the sudden emotion in her voice.

“You need to tell him.” Lindsay says simply, taking the last bite of her cupcake.

“Tell me what?”

Griffon sighs, putting down the piping bag and motioning for Michael to follow her. She walks up the stairs and into their nice little house above the store, then to another door and leads to roof. Michael doesn’t question her only follows her trying not to feel any sense of dread. They reach the roof quickly and Griffon walks over to the right edge of the building. She points to a roof about a block away and then sighs.

Michael squints trying to look at whatever Griffon seems so displeased about. He sees him then. Ryan waves slightly, never moving away from what looks like a sniper rifle that he is looking through. Michael feels simultaneous thrilled to see him and filled with fear at having a rifle pointing at him.

“How did you know he was there?” Michael asks, waving back sheepishly.

“I saw him through my bathroom window. He wasn’t trying to hide.” She sighs before looking at Michael. “I would not call this romantic.”

“No, you are right. About as romantic as Bella being stalked by Edward in Twilight,” Michael says to himself amused at his own joke, but Griffon doesn’t seem to think he’s funny.

“Are you being serious or are you joking? Stalking is not romantic,” Griffon explains plainly, but Michael nods instantly, waving his hands up in his defense.

“No, no. I was making a joke.” Michael breathes, feeling a little manic at having Ryan so close, but, goddamn, why did that have to include a sniper rifle. Was that how Ryan had been watching him the last week? Well that was fucking unnerving.

“Misguided. I think that is how I am going to refer to how he is courting you. Completely misguided. Now, if you want to go talk to him. Go. That way if you aren’t into him, I can scare him off now and back you up.  I will be right here.” Griffon says and waves a little at where Ryan is still watching them.

“But, you don’t have a weapon or anything.” Michael frowns.

Griffon only smiles. “Michael, what I will do to him if he tries to hurt you in any way can only be described as god’s own fury. Now go.”

Michael smiles then, kissing her cheek and heading down the stairs to leave the restaurant. Lindsay waves at Michael when he leaves calling out a ‘go get ‘em, lover boy!’ as he heads out the door. Michael feels his heart pounding as he heads down the sunbright alleyways to where Ryan’s building was. He tries not to run, he’s not desperate, okay? But when he finally gets to the building, his steps are much too quick for a normal pace.

Michael stares up at the rusty ladder running up the building. Fuck. Well, he needed to talk to Ryan so he was just going to have to go for it and hope that the old thing didn’t kill him. He makes his way up fairly easily, only making the mistake of looking down once. He scrambles his way up on top of the building to see Ryan sitting on the edge of the roof, a sleek black sniper rifle laying inside a nice case and what looks like a gameboy beeping beside him. Alright, first he was gonna tell this asshole off for being a creepy bastard.

“Listen, we have to talk.” Michael begins. Ryan only nods reaching over to push a button on the side of the beeping device. It goes silent. “You have to stop this.”

Ryan just nods. “Alright.”

“Do...do you know what I am talking about?” Michael asks having completely expected some sort of resistance.

Ryan raises one eyebrow. “Being on a rooftop?” He offers.

“No...well, yes, but christ. Have you ever heard of goddamn binoculars like a normal stalker?!”

Ryan frowns slightly looking at his sniper rifle affectionately. “It’s more effective.”

“Yeah, and it is also fucking terrifying.”

“How so?”

“Most people don’t get stalked with sniper rifles and those that do usually DIE. I’m going to take a wild guess and say you don’t normally do this.”

“Actually, it’s exactly what I do on a daily basis.” Ryan says biting slightly at his lower lip, before offering a slight smile that for some unknown reason doesn’t come off completely creepy given what he just said.

“Follow me?” Michael asks, worried that maybe Griffon was right.

“Lately yes, but normally I am following my target before I kill them.”

Michael’s eyes widen a bit. “Well fucking stop following me around with a goddamn rifle!”

“Okay.”  Ryan says crossing his arms in front of him.

“Because it’s fucking creepy--Oh...wait? Just okay?”

“Yes, if it bothers you, I don’t want to keep doing it. I am interested in you.”

“What do you mean interested in me?”

“You’re cute.”   _Fucking charmer this one._

“Do you pick up a lot of guys this way?” Michael deadpans.

Ryan shrugs. “No, not at all really.”

“Yeah, I can’t imagine why. Let me give you a little advice for any future pursuits okay? Sniper rifle? No. Nearly breaking someone’s wrist? Also, no. Calling them cute? Of course, but not when they are fucking pissed.”

“And are you mad now?” Ryan asks, shifting up so he can walk over to where Michael is.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me. Don’t you fucking dare.”

Ryan only smirks, reaching out slightly to run a warm finger down Michael’s throat. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Michael tries not to lean into it. He’s not going to get off that easy. Michael’s been a ball of anxiety and worried energy all week, Ryan needed to know what he put him through. “I climbed up that rusty ass ladder that is probably going to give me tuberculosis or some shit like that to see if this could actually work or if I was going crazy.”

“Pretty important ladder then, tetanus or not.”  Ryan muses with a far too pleased smile.

“Are you always this fucking sarcastic?”

“No, not during work, I’m not.”

“Are you not working today?” _Casual conversation with an assassin about his day job. Hell of a thing you got going here, Michael._

“No, I’m on a murder break currently.”

“Is that a thing?”

“For me, yes.”

“Any particular reason?”

“My boss is dealing with other issues.”

“Oh?”

Ryan’s eyes darken and his body tenses. “His boyfriend got strung upside down outside their apartment.”

Michael’s heart freezes then. “Gavin?”

“No, Ray. He’s alright now, but the boss is ….”

“Upset?”

“Extremely, but you can only shoot the one who did it so many times.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

“That’s what happened.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah, he shot him multiple times. Pretty brutal, I have to say. It was actually right before I ran into you.”

Michael pales.

“Sorry, probably more than you would like to know.”

“I...don’t...really know how to respond?”

“Understandable.” Ryan snaps the rifle case shut. “So, can I call you cute now?”

Michael sighs. “Just take me out to dinner please. If I am going to entertain this idea of …..us, I need the world to stop being so goddamn weird and complicated. I need some stability and normalcy.”

“I can’t really promise that. I can promise dinner, but not the others.”

“Well, it’s a start.” Michael breathes. “Now, help me get down this fucking ladder.”

“Or we can take the stairs down inside the building?” Ryan suggests. Michael fumes. “You know it’s hard to compliment your looks if you are going to be angry all the time.”

A loud whistle comes from a few buildings down and Michael looks up to see Griffon who motions for them to come where she is. _Well, this is going to be a hell of a start to their relationship._

“She wants us to join her?” Ryan asks, clamping his rifle case shut and picking up the little device.

“Yeah, she use to be a cop, so she isn’t very fond of the idea of you anywhere near me.” Michael explains, excepting Ryan to be offended, but he only nods.

“Sounds like a reasonable woman, cop or not. I wouldn’t be fond of me either. “

“So….would you like to have breakfast with her, her girlfriend, and an attractive British cashier?” Michael asks.

Ryan leans in quickly to steal a small kiss from Michael who isn’t sure how to react. “I will never refuse anything with food and an attractive Brit.”

“This is wierd.” Michael frowns, he had hoped that after talking to Ryan, he would feel a little more secure in where his life was going, but now it felt even more unstable.

“I’ll try to make it less strange for you. You can ask me anything. Now, I’m starving, so let’s go talk to….” Ryan flips his phone out to look at something before smiling. “Griffon.”

“How did you know her name?”

“Ray is amazing at tracking information down, also, I really like a good cupcake from time to time.” Ryan smiles before opening the door for Michael to walk down the stairs.

“Am I going first so you can stare at my ass?” Michael questions.

Ryan only shrugs. “Would you be angry if I said yes?”

“No, actually.”

“Then yes, and Michael, you’re very cute.”

Michael groans heading down the stairs. “You are such a creepy fucker, Haywood.” But his smile gives him away.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (C) The Love Song by J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Eliot.


	3. and he grabs me, he has me by my heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: homophobia, homophobic slurs, suicide mention, mention of dubious consent in porn

Michael finds himself standing outside of Griffon’s cupcake bakery once more, but this time is a little different. He is waiting with what would now be considered his ...boyfriend? He wasn’t exactly sure of the terms yet, but damn that had happened fast, right?

Ryan is currently standing several feet away from him, just out of the alleyway. His attention is, unfortunately, not on Michael at the moment, as he said he had to send a quick text and had been preoccupied with his phone ever since they had their little talk on the rooftop.

The vibration of a speeding engine seems to be felt in his bones before Michael can hear it. He sees Ryan throw a quick wave before a blur of white, black, and lime green comes buzzing past him, smoothly snatching the black rifle case out of Ryan’s gloved hands and then down the street without a moment’s hesitation.

“Friend of yours?” Michael asks, nodding in the direction of the already long gone motor bike as Ryan finally walks over to where he is.

“No, J.J. is a co-worker.”

“Right,” Michael knew he had a lot to learn, but first…

Griffon is already pointing her rolling pin at Dan and Lindsay who both seem to be ignoring her as she talks. They are sitting on the counter, kicking their feet excitedly, as they wait for Michael to return with his new attachment that they had heard so much about in so short of time.

“I know, we don’t like...know a lot about each other and all, but she is as close to a mother as I have, so please ….don’t cause any issues, because I will have to kick your ass and we just started this whole thing,” Michael explains. Nodding, Ryan opens the door for him and Michael braces himself for the impact of whatever is about to unfold in front of him.

“Bisexuality is such a cruel and...somewhat _surprising_ mistress, I must say.” Lindsay muses as she stares intently at Michael’s new tag along.

Dan makes a noise next to her in agreement. “Yes, I do have to agree with you, Linds. I am not exactly sure what it is though. He’s very attractive for, you know, your run of the mill cookie cutter bloke.”

Michael sighs, thinking that maybe he didn’t want to include these two on his new Christmas card list. Ryan, however, seems to be taking everything in stride. Of course the fucker is. Michael doesn’t think Ryan could ever be anything but completely calm and collected.

“I’ve been told it’s my shoulders,” Ryan explains as he walks over to where Dan and Lindsay are residing smugly. He motions with his one black glove at the width of his shoulders and Michael feels a slight smirk forming on his mouth when Dan just sort of nods.

“Does it help to have wide shoulders when you throw lifeless bodies over them? I can see that being a nice advantage for that type of thing,” Lindsay asks, the smile on her face is beyond pleased. Michael wishes he could even form one negative thought about her, but the fact of the matter was that he thought the fucking world of her already. Goddamn Griffon for being able to pick such a great catch.

Ryan doesn’t skip a beat, “Noted if the occasion ever pops up. I will let the arresting officers know that you were the one who gave me the advice though.”

Michael frowns a bit, not understanding why Ryan is being so vague about this job description suddenly when he was so forthcoming with him. He watches the way Ryan doesn’t touch anything, the way his gloved fingers wrap around his wrist as he stands in front of the group of bakery judges. Then it hits him, Ryan doesn’t trust them. _Holy fuck, did that mean Ryan trusted him?_

Griffon interrupts his life altering thinking as she puts on her best smile and she walks over to where Ryan is standing. Dan and Lindsay watch with nearly vibrating (and _judas-esque_ ) enthusiasm.

“I’m Griffon. This is my partner, Lindsay, and our close friend and cashier, Dan,” Griffon says, shaking Ryan’s extended hand, black glove still snug against his skin.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you all.” Ryan smiles, and Michael feels like his heart is about to explode from the tension.

“I’d say we heard good things about you, but….” Griffon lets the sentence hang harshly in the air and Michael groans.

Ryan only offers that same smile though, shrugging slightly. “I don’t know about Michael’s other boyfriends, but I’m sure they had a much better reputation than mine.”

“You’d be surprised,” Griffon snorts. Michael looks between Ryan and then Griffon and a terrible, terrible thought pops into his head. _What if they become friends?!_

“I’d be lying if I said that doesn’t boost my self confidence,” Ryan confesses, much to everyone’s surprise.

“I’m sure you don’t need any sort of confidence boost,” Dan snorts. Lindsay nods in agreement and Michael can’t help but roll his eyes, but the air has seemed to stop buzzing with animosity.

“So breakfast?” Michael asks, trying to steer the conversation elsewhere.

Griffon sighs, turning to look at Lindsay and Dan who both offer up apologetic faces.

“Unfortunately, babe, we have a lot of errands to run today. We were suppose to get our flour shipment this morning, but the company just called and said it isn’t coming. So now, we have enough for today, but not tomorrow or the rest of the week."

“What’s going on with your flour shipment?” Ryan asks and he sounds genuinely concerned.

“Are they the same people that deliver your sugar,” Michael asks. Ryan glances over his shoulder to him before looking back at Griffon.

“The same truck driver, yes. I do hope he is feeling alright. This has been going on for a week.” Griffon sighs. She looks at Ryan and crosses her arms. _Here it comes_ , Michael thinks. “Listen, if you hurt my baby boy, I will make you wish I had hired a hitman because it won’t be quick and easy. You have my word on that.”

Ryan nods, “Understood.”

Michael isn’t sure that everything seems square and settled but it will do for now. “So...I guess Ryan and I are going to get breakfast then. Do you want something?”

Griffon shakes her head, walking over to Michael and wrapping her arms around him. She kisses his forehead again. “I only want you to see you more now, okay? You have my number so text me if you ever need me for _anything._ ”  

Michael understands her emphasis and nods. “I will. It was good to see you again. Lindsay, Dan, thanks for ….being you?”

Lindsay just laughs walking around the counter to hug him as well. Before he knows it, Dan has joined them. Michael has absolutely no idea what happened to him in 24 hours, but suddenly he has a family and a boyfriend. _What a fucking trip._

*~*~*~*

Their breakfast is at some ridiculously fancy French bistro, where they sit outside on far too nice and expensive chairs. Michael worries about what he is wearing and how he is sitting and why does he have two forks and what the fuck is a quiche?! Ryan, despite Michael’s dread, doesn’t laugh or scoff at him once. The only look of amusement he expresses is at the second fork that Michael so desperately wants to understand.

“There is a simple explanation,” Ryan pauses, his hand reaching over to stroke a gloved finger across Michael’s knuckles. “They are pretentious.”

Michael can’t help the smile on his face. “Everything’s good though. Especially this drink.”

“I’m glad you are enjoying it,” Ryan says, then looks down at his cell phone when it begins to vibrate across the table. He slides it open easily with his finger and then leans back with it, offering Michael an apologetic smile.

“Hi, Ray. Yes, I do know it was an unusual request and thank you for getting the information to me so quickly.” Michael is curious if Ryan is usually on the phone this much. Mostly, it had just been a few spurts of texting here and there, but he wonders if this is going to be a trend in their relationship.

“I’m actually out on a date this morning,” Ryan says before rolling his eyes fondly at whatever is being said on the other end of the phone. It causes Michael to grin, “Yes, I know that is unheard of, now what did you find out for me?”

Their waitress returns placing the bill between them. Michael is curious so he reaches out unsure if Ryan will be upset; however, the older man doesn’t react just lets MIchael take the bill.

_$42.37_

Michael knows he pales slightly at what had to be the most expensive breakfast he has ever eaten. He pushes the bill back toward Ryan who nods as he pulls out his wallet, handing it to Michael while he continues his conversation. Michael opens the black leather wallet, which looks hella expensive. He stares down at the stack of hundred dollar bills and tries not to turn green with envy. Sure, he made a small roll of hundreds from time to time, but nothing like this.

Ryan is clearly distracted, so Michael seizes the opportunity to do a little investigating of his own. The money takes up some space, but most of it is taken up by seven different plastic slip pockets. Michael pulls one out and sees that one contains several credit cards, a social security card, and a driver’s license. He notices that the name on the ID isn’t Ryan Haywood. In fact, there are different names on all of them and none of them are Ryan.

“Give her a hundred, love. She never let our drinks get half empty.” Ryan comments, trying not to smirk when Michael jumps at his side. He doesn’t comment on the fact that Michael was going through his wallet, just nods when Michael looks at him as he puts the hundred dollar bill on the table.

“Thanks Ray, I owe you one,” Ryan says as he hangs up. “Would you like to go on a little ride?”

Michael is out of his seat before he even starts nodding.

Ryan wraps his arm around Michael’s shoulders, pulling him close to lay a small kiss against his curls before walking out of the restaurant. “You can be my navigator.”

“Sure.” Michael agrees as he leans close to Ryan, just enjoying the lack of space between them.

Ryan smiles, strolling over to a red sports car. They had walked to the small bistro, so Michael just assumed that they would be going somewhere else on foot. Michael loves being able to enjoy the fresh morning air. Apparently though, Ryan had a car delivered to him sometime while they were eating. Michael couldn’t help but be impressed. He runs his hands down the shiny red metal and wonders if this car is brand new.

“It’s called a Lotus Evora. It’s a British car. Gavin has a thing about all of us having British cars. I have this one in black back in my garage. I don’t really like something so flashy but this will do just fine for what I have planned. I like to have the same type of vehicle since I know how it handles.” Ryan explains as he opens his door and slides in. Michael follows suit and tries not to feel like he is getting everything dirty.

“You know when we first met, I thought you looked like a James Bond wannabe. This car sort of proves me right.” Michael laughs as he looks at all the different screens popping up on the dashboard. Ryan only shrugs as he turns the key to start the ignition. Michael watches as a small smile slips across Ryan’s lips as his foot presses against the gas pedal to hear the engine rev. Leaning back against the headrest, Ryan turns his head slightly to give Michael a pleased smile.

“Call me whatever you want, but I love this car and my gadgets.” Ryan shrugs, pulling out a cord from the center console and then hooking up his phone. The navigation system pops up and Michael can see a red dot blinking on the screen now.

“Oh, are we meeting someone?” Michael asks, noticing that the dot is moving.

“Yep. I think you will enjoy this.”

Michael buckles himself up and then snakes his hand over Ryan’s as they begin to drive down the road. He’s not sure where they are going, but he’s definitely up for the ride.

The silence between them isn’t uncomfortable. There is a soft undertone of some sort of classical music playing on the stereo. Michael wonders if all of the Ramsey’s ‘family’ cars are programmed with this genre of music or if it is just Ryan’s.

“How do you feel about the human race?” Ryan asks, as if curious about the weather.

Michael sort of frowns, looking down at his fingernails. “I’m okay with people.”

Humming slightly, Ryan looks down at the red dot, which has come to a stop and is only a few blocks away. “Hold on, babe.”

Michael opens his mouth to ask why but the fancy sports car turns suddenly down an alley that didn’t look big enough for it. Michael makes out a soft ‘ahh’ as Ryan’s legs move as his feet shift from the gas pedal to brake pad. The alley walls whisk by before Ryan slams on the brakes and they skid around a corner. Ryan pushes down on the gas pedal again, causing them to speed down the alleyway.

“Ryan...Ryan.” Michael swallows, his hand shaking slightly as he grabs a hold of Ryan’s forearm.

“It’s alright, Michael,” Ryan soothes, though his voice is tense as he turns the wheel quickly. If this was some sort of hit, Michael definitely didn’t want to be a part of it. He could deal with dating someone who killed for a living, but Michael ...Michael didn’t honestly want to hurt anyone.

The car comes to a complete stop, blocking the alleyway entirely. Michael looks past Ryan and out of his window to see a simple delivery truck waiting with its back open for a shipment.

“What are we…?” Michael starts but Ryan is already moving over to reach into the glove compartment to pull out a small handgun. MIchael's eyes widen. Double checking the gun, Ryan puts the gun in the back of his pants, covering it with his black leather jacket.

Ryan leans over again, cupping Michael’s face before giving him a soft kiss. “Stay here, but listen to this. Hit that blinking red button if something goes wrong.” Ryan says handing Michael a phone before getting out of the car.

Michael only frowns as he puts the phone up to his ear. He tries to stop his heart from racing as he listens intently.

Ryan walks over to where the driver is currently sitting in the cab of his truck. He raps on the metal door with his knuckles and then offers up a smile when the driver opens up his cab.

“Can I help you,” the driver asks, getting out of the truck as Ryan takes a step back to make room for him on the ground.

“Yeah, you deliver for Gregg’s Baking Supply, right,” Ryan asks, his voice sounds strange to Michael, like he’s speaking at a higher tone or with a slight accent.

“Yes, sir. Best delivery company in the whole of Austin.” The driver says with a pleased smile. He was clearly proud of his work.

“I have a few questions for you then.” Ryans says, sounding pleasantly sweet. Michael can see that he is holding his body much differently than usual. It’s loose and welcoming.

“Of course, sir. What can I help you with?” That Southern hospitality was something that Michael has never really got use to, even though he had been in Texas for as long as he could remember. He found a lot of things wrong with people in this state, but their never ending loyalty and good-naturedness made him still like most of the people that lived in this city.

“Well, I have been calling around and it seems that you guys have a pretty good reputation around here. Infact, I was just talking to the owner here and they said that I should talk to you about it,” Ryan explains. Michael would have totally bought it.

The man nods, smiling at Ryan who only gives him one back. It looks positively genuine.”Yes sir, I believe that a company should be represented by all of it’s employees.”

“Well…I did hear one bad review about your company,” Ryan starts, scuffing at the ground with his boots.

“Well, there isn’t a bit of truth in that rumor, whatever it is. We are a company build on Christian values. We believe in the word of God and try to do what he would want us to do.”

“Mark 12:31,” Ryan says, his voice holding an emotion that Michael had never heard, his voice hard and angry. He struggles to remember any passages from the Bible let alone whatever that one was.

The other man looks at Ryan completely impressed. “Indeed, sir. Love your neighbor as you would love yourself. There is no other commandment greater.”

Ryan’s face changes then, turning neutral before shifting to a cold stare. “So what about Sapphic Sprinkles?”

The driver starts shaking his head. “Listen, you are a God-fearing man, you know God’s feelings toward _those_ types of people.”

Michael can see Ryan’s whole body beginning to tense, as if winding up to strike.

“What types?” Ryan’s words are sharp and like a warning. Michael feels himself pulling his legs up on the seat, not caring if his feet are dirty.

“Two women run that store,” He whispers, Michael barely hearing it. His heart begins to beat horrifically in his chest. His stomach is churning but he can’t decide if that is from dread or the realization that Lindsay and Griffon weren’t getting their shipments because they were lesbians.

“Yes, they sell some of the best cupcakes around,” Ryan says, with something that sounds like pride.

“To children! I drove by there the other week and saw a little Girl Scout troop in there! Those tiny innocent children getting brainwashed to think that that lifestyle is normal and okay!”

“And _what_ exactly is wrong with that?”

“What if they touched those poor little girls? They aren’t natural. They are wicked people who prey on young girls. You bet I don’t deliver to those dykes.”

The sound of the man being thrown against a truck echoes down the alleyway. Ryan’s forearm pushes into the man’s throat as he pulls his gun out, pointing it so the man is looking down the barrel.

“You _will_ take what you have in your truck and you _will_ deliver it, free of charge, to Sapphic Sprinkles, right now. You _will_ continue to do your deliveries with them and you _will_ give them a discount. If you don’t, I **will** know. I know everything about you.”

“Y--you don’t know anything,” the driver stutters.

“How do you think I found you? I know where you live, I know about your family and your children. I will kill every single one of them. And mark my words, your very last breath will be after a long and suffering battle with my various methods of torture.”

The man just blinks, unable to speak.

Ryan slams him against the truck again. “Do you understand?”

“Y-yes, yes. I will do whatever you say.”

“And I _swear_ , Donald.” The man gasps as Ryan says his name, the full impact seems to sink in completely now, “I will know if you speak of this to anyone or if you stop delivering to them.”

“I understand.”

Ryan takes a step back and nods. “Good job, Donald. Make sure I don’t have to come back.”

“Of course, of course. I am going to deliver to them now! I swear!”

Ryan just nods walking back to the red sports car and slips inside. Michael is unable to say anything, just sort of sinks into his seat as Ryan starts the car. Ryan shoots another quick wave Donald’s way before he speeds off.

*~*~*~*

Michael silently watches Ryan as he punches in the passcode to his apartment. The silence is beginning to become deafening. The whole car ride had been quiet, the walk through the incredibly nice parking garage where the valet had waved at Ryan was silent, and now as they wait outside for Ryan’s door to open Michael thinks he is going to explode from the lack of noise.

But Michael can’t come up with the words. He has so many questions and wishes he could voice them. However, Ryan doesn’t try to make him speak, he just places his hand on Michael’s leg and rubs softly.

There is the sound of a lock clicking open on the other side and Ryan’s phone beeping brought Michael out of his thoughts. He watches as Ryan enters four numbers into a flashing app. There is another click and then Ryan pulls out his keys to finally unlock the door.

“Guessing I’m never going to be able to get in or out of this place,” Michael finally says. The silence being broken seems to make Ryan’s hand go still on the door handle.

“I’ll get you a key...and a phone and the code,” Ryan says, a lot quieter than he had been all day. The distraught in his voice causes Michael to reach out his hand to run up Ryan’s back, but then pulls it back. He watches the way Ryan’s whole body seems to have shut down, like he is that rumored emotionless robot and his switched has been flicked to off. His hand finally lays flush against Ryan’s back. Michael doesn’t have a lot of experience with showing emotion, but there is something about the way Ryan doesn’t react physically that makes Michael desperate to show it.

“Hey, you….you don’t have to. I can just come over when you want me too,” Michael whispers, not really sure what to do with his hands, just trying to rub them up and down in the most soothing way possible. _God, what the hell type of relationship was this?_

“I don’t normally have anyone over,” Ryan says softly, as he finally turns the handle and walks into the apartment. Michael moves around him to take in what has to be the biggest apartment he has ever seen in his life. The long hallway has pristine dark wooden floors and crisp white walls, which look like something Michael has only seen in movies or on MTV Cribs back when it was still a good show. But Michael notices that there aren’t any fancy paintings or anything else that he imagines rich people would have to decorate the walls. It is bare. Michael wonders why. Ryan seems like the kinda guy who would buy expensive things and hang them on his walls so he could then invite friends over and show it off while they drank wine together.

There is a large electric console fit into the wall though. Ryan pulls his gloves off and presses his thumb into the screen. _Damn, that was a lot of security._ Once he is verified, Ryan starts pulling up and expanding tabs. He looks like Tony fucking Stark. Michael, is personally more attracted to the the actor who played the Hulk but, well Robert Downey Jr. will do.

“Alright, push your thumb in the box.” Ryan says making Michael frown but he does it anyway. Michael watches the screen scan his thumbprint and then go to a black screen with New Administrator Approved now flashing in white in the middle of it. “Well, that’s one down. I will get in touch with Ray to work on the others.”

Ryan drops his gloves and keys down on the small table under the electronic device and then hangs up his leather jacket. Turning, he walks down the hall and turns into a doorway. Michael just stands there, his body finally catching up with his mind’s thousand questions and he freezes.

He’s now officially dating a mass murderer. Ryan Haywood, listed on the FBI’s Most Wanted List. _His name might not even be fucking Ryan goddamn Haywood!_ Michael had seen him threaten someone with a gun. And Michael is now in that type of person’s apartment. There are so many goddamn red flags that Michael feels like he is watching some sort of extremely aggressive sporting event.

Ryan peeks back out of the doorway and frowns. Michael assumes it is because he doesn’t follow him but his feet just don’t want to move. He looks up at Ryan who only offers a very soft smile. Ryan walks over to Michael, taking his hand, and then placing his other on the small of Michael’s back, pushing him forward and into the kitchen.

The kitchen is full of marble furnished countertops. The cabinets are made of black wood. The color scheme is bold without having any flash of color. It is sharp like everything else about Ryan.  Helping him to the closest chair, Ryan sat Michael down in one of the black bar stools.

“Would you like something to eat?” Ryan asks pointing at the large silver refrigerator. Michael shakes his head.

Ryan frowns a bit walking over to a huge black wooden pantry and opens it. “Something to drink, I have nearly everything. Wine, whiskey, vodka?”

“No, I’m okay.”

Ryan closes the door, placing the little metal latch back on. “You clearly aren’t. Talk to me.”

“I just...I spend all last week thinking about you...I haven’t seen Griffon in years and apparently she thought I was dead so...there’s that...and now we are sort of dating and you knew like everything about that prick so…” Michael rattles off but feels he isn’t really talking or explaining anything.

“It’s bewildering and I imagine it is causing you a lot of anxiety. Completely understandable.” Ryan says as he leans against the white with black speckled marble counters. He props himself up on his hands and just opens his body language to that of someone who will hang on Michael’s ever word.

Michael still isn’t sure where exactly to start so he just sort of grasps the first thing that comes to his mind. “How did you know about the delivery company?”

“A quick call to Ray to see if the driver was actually doing his other deliveries. He was. So why wouldn’t he be delivering to Sapphic Sprinkles?”

“Because he’s a homophobic douchebag.” Michael answers, sighing quietly.

“All I had Ray do then was track his vehicle.” Ryan shrugs.

Michael frowns. “But how did you know about his family and his name and where he lived?”

“He had a name tag, a wedding ring, and I just guessed that he had kids.”

Michael nods. It all made perfect sense. “What about where he lived?”

“I don’t know where he lived, but it’s the best thing to threaten someone with. I mean I can find out so it’s not exactly an empty threat.” Ryan’s tone is completely causal.

“I guess that all makes sense.” Michael says as he stares down at the counters.

Ryan seems to sense that Michael isn’t use to all the attention being on him so he shifts his gaze elsewhere, before pushing himself up to head toward the refrigerator. Michael welcomes being out of the spotlight, it makes his words come easier.

“Is your name really Ryan?” Michael wishes his voice is a lot stronger than it sounds.

“Yes, well technically, it’s James Ryan Haywood. But I prefer Ryan. My mother always said James was a terrible name.” Ryan explains, smiling fondly to himself before hunting through the fridge.

“I’m guessing your dad named you James then.”

“Yes, he had terrible taste in everything. The only good decision he ever made was marrying my mother. She was a wonderful woman.”

“Do you get to see her often?” Michael asks, really happy that mafia hitman have mothers who they think fondly of.

“No, she was killed when I was younger.” Ryan says simply, his hand on the handle of the fridge as he holds several food items to his chest.

 _Of course, because why wouldn’t he actually have a good home life?_ Michael was sure that there was someone putting a checkmark in some sort of psychopath checklist under Mommy Issues. “Oh, I’m really sorry.”

“Thank you. I am as well.” Ryan replies, offering a sad smile. He brings what he has in his arms to the counter and begins pulling out pots and pans.

“What about your dad?”

“In prison serving a life sentence.” Ryan’s voice is vacant of emotions as he begins slicing fruit.

“Oh. What for?” Michael knows this isn’t exactly the best type of first date questioning, but he’s curious. Who wouldn’t be?

Ryan slows at cutting the strawberries but doesn’t stop completely. “Killing her.”

 _Right, that would make absolute fucking sense. Way to go, Michael Jones._ “Ah, Jesus. Ryan, I’m sorry, I didn’t…”

Shaking his head, Ryan only measures how much milk he needs before pulling a round, black container next to his sink. He measures out a bit of flour from the it and pours the full measuring cup in the bowl. He doesn’t reply, but he doesn’t seem too upset by how the conversation is going either.

Everything goes quiet again as Michael watches Ryan begin to cook whatever it is. He’s thinking that it is some sort of tortilla with how thin it is being spread out. Ryan’s using a special pan which he is moving around to make sure the whole batter coats it. It cooks really quickly much to Michael’s surprise.

“Crepes.” Ryan explains when he sees Michael staring at him intently. “It’s like a ridiculously thin pancake.”

Michael only nods, he’s seen Gordon Ramsay yell about people messing up crepes on Hell’s Kitchen before so he has a vague idea of what that is. He’s certainly never had one though. Today is apparently about experiencing new things for him.

Ryan lays out four crepes on a plate and then begins to whip up a batch of filling. It’s nice watching Ryan do something so...domestic and familiar. His hands aren’t causing destruction, instead they are creating Michael something to eat. It’s nice. But it brings him to his next question.

“Why me?” Michael asks but he had wanted to phrase it differently. So it doesn’t sound as desperate for praise.

Ryan puts the final touches on Michael's crepes, sliding the plate to Michael along with a fork. “Why should it be anyone else?”

“Because I’m not exactly what you call a catch.” Michael deadpans, cutting himself a bite. He tries not to get distracted at the wonderful taste of it because Ryan is looking at him intensely.

“I think you are.”

“Christ. You don’t just say shit like that to another person, alright?”

“But you asked why you and that’s why.” Ryan frowns causing Michael to just stare at him. “Is this one of those ‘don’t call you cute when you are angry’ type of things? I didn’t sense any hostility.”

“Right, you don’t have much experience with dating.” Michael confirms.

Ryan beings to clean his dishes as he shrugs. “Dating is a loaded word. I have had plenty of relationships. I go to clubs.”

“Clubs? Forgive me, I didn’t peg you for a dancer.” Michael laughs softly, thinking he’d love to see this.

“They aren’t exactly dancing clubs. I mean you can dance there if you want, but that’s not why I go.”

“Yeah? What kinda club is it?”

“BDSM.”

Ryan stops what he is doing as he looks at Michael to read his expression. Michael doesn’t exactly know how to approach that subject. Looks like he was definitely going to experience something new.

“So...right...I…” Michael tries but Ryan only motions for him to eat his food.

“I’ll explain.” Ryan says making sure Michael starts eating before he begins. “Let’s say that my sex life has always been complicated. I grew up in Georgia. You can imagine it wasn’t very conducive for a young man growing up gay. However, I met a nice young man named Henry at an academic camp when I was sixteen.”

“Academic camp?” Michael asks around a mouthful of crepe.

“Like...for kids that were gifted academically. It was to help me prepare for college.” Ryan explains. “So, I spend a month with him. I was an idiot and thought that Henry was in love with me as I was with him since he was my first time and everything. But it turned out he was a closeted bastard who internalized homophobia so deeply that he didn’t believe he liked men even while he was fucking me.”

The crepe suddenly loses it’s appeal so Michael swallows the last bite down and pushes the plate away. He knew a few people like Ryan was describing. Those school bullies who pushed him into lockers and yelled slurs at him. When they were ‘outed’, they always came to him as if he would forgive him because he was gay as well. _Fuck that._ He had to go through hell, they needed to experience it as well. _Find some other poor bastard who would be a lot more accommodating to your sob story._

“Yeah, I’ve never been with anyone like that but I know some of those fuckers.” Michael offers, Ryan seems to intense and offers a slight smile then.

“See, this is why I picked you. We have the same outlook on life.” Ryan takes a deep sigh before gathering his thoughts. “Now, after Henry, I just pushed through school as quickly as I could. Then I went to New York, ran into Geoff there. We did a lot of drugs and slept with a lot of people.”

“You know, the typical life of someone on the FBI’s Most Wanted List.” Michael muses making Ryan look at him. “What?”

“How did you know I was on the FBI’s list?” Ryan asks, drumming his fingers against the counter.

“The news told me.”

“Did they have a photo?” Ryan asks, Michael sees that Ryan’s hand is moving slowly toward a drawer.

“No, I mean, yes, but you had on this creepy skull mask.” Michael says slowly, watching the way Ryan’s hand stops.

Ryan squints slightly, as if trying to figure out if Michael is lying. “And they said my name?”

“They said….they said your last name, for sure. I just….figured that they had said your first name as well. But...I’m not sure.” Michael says now thinking he just inserted Ryan’s first name into the news cast since all he had been doing was thinking about Ryan Haywood.

“Well, I will have to talk to Jack and see what all he can find. They shouldn’t have that much about me.” Ryan sighs, rubbing at his temple.

“If I said it was your full name and it was your picture, were you going to stab me with a fork?” Michael asks. His hand is already reaching into his pocket to call Griffon if Ryan gave anything in the way of an positive answer 

Ryan only shakes his head. “Mark my words, Michael. I would never hurt you for any reason, unless you consented. But if I was found out, I would need to either rid myself of any evidence they had against me or eliminate myself.”

Michael’s hand drops his phone back down into his pocket in shock. “You would have killed yourself...just like that?”

“I mean, I would have liked to spend more time with you but I can’t bring down the family with me. I could never do that to Ray. Or the others.” Ryan explains. Michael definitely doesn’t like that but also doesn’t know how to approach the subject. He was going to add this to the list call 'Things We _Need_ To Talk About".

“So...um, you were talking about your sex life.” Michael steers.

“Right, so after I joined the family. I spend a good amount of time with Gavin.”

I fucking knew it! Michael wants to scream out, but that wouldn’t exactly be appropriate in this situation, but he totally called it.

“Gavin was much more interested in Geoff, but the fact that we were both using each other for sex was very clear. Geoff finally realized that he needed to get the stick out of his ass and actually admit to himself that he was as in love with Gavin as Gavin was with him.” Ryan says and he laughs then. It’s quiet and faint but it’s there. It’s also very nice to hear. “Once Gavin and Geoff became exclusive, I started going to the clubs.”

“What are they like? The clubs?”

“Well, I never really look at the decor, I think there is a lot of red. Erotic photos on the walls. I am usually only out in the actual club for a few minutes, until I find a partner and we go into one of the back rooms to have sex.”

“Like with leather and chains and that sort of stuff?”

Ryan smiles, reaching out to squeeze Michael’s hands. They are still wet from washing the dishes and Michael realizes this is the first time he has actually touched his skin. The hair on the back of his neck stands up. “No, nothing like that. I mean, there is certainly pleasure in that but it isn’t my scene.”

“What is?” Michael swallows, his heart has began to race.

“Control. I like to hold or tie people down. I like to tease them until they aren’t able to take it anymore. I like to praise them. Just give them the most pleasure that I possibly can. I like making people happy.”

Michael is quiet as he rolls that over in his head. That isn’t what he thought of when he thought of BDSM. Surely, there was more to it than that. I mean, everyone would be pounding at the doors of those types of clubs if they had someone as attractive as Ryan praising them and getting them off.

“I can show you.” Ryan says then, his hand running down Michael’s face, to let a finger linger on Michael’s lips before he pulls away.

Michael wants to play it cool. Brush it off, but he just nods dumbly. Ryan smiles then and it is absolutely genuine. He motions for Michael to follow him down the hall. Hopping off the stool, Michael follows him and sneaks a peek at each room they past 

They walk through the living room with it’s huge wall of windows that look down at the city below. The TV is a lot bigger than Michael’s but it isn’t as large as Michael had imagined. There is a computer desk with three different monitors though. The next room is locked but Ryan types in a code into the keypad next to it.

“The gun safe.” Ryan explains. Gun safe is the biggest understatement in the world. It’s a whole goddamn room full of weapons. They are all under lock and key but Michael couldn’t even count how many there are. Only the bright white table sitting in the middle of the room gave off a different color than black or clear glass. Michael is curious as to why it is white but doesn’t ask because they don’t stay long.

“I know you aren’t trained with firearms so I don’t want you going in there.” Ryan orders, his voice firm but not threatening.

“What makes you say that?” Michael asks, offended.

“You nearly lost your shit when I pulled out the pistol in the glove compartment. You aren’t comfortable around them.”

Of course, another of his fucking Sherlock-esce observations. “Well, maybe if you teach me.”

Ryan stops, turning around, causing Michael to run into his solid chest. “We can do that now.”

Michael sees Ryan’s eager face and can’t help but laugh at this whole crazy situation. He can’t imagine a man who would like to teach someone how to shoot instead of have sex with them. But here was Ryan, looking so hopeful and optimistic.

“Why are you laughing?” Ryan asks.

Michael tries to stop laughing but only has to lean against Ryan to calm down. Ryan only pats at Michael’s head softly, unsure of why he needs comforting but he is willing to give it to him. “I’m sorry, just all of this is so fucking crazy. I mean, who the fuck does this? Who goes to a hitman’s house? Who wants to have sex with him?! Why the fuck am I doing this? and you are so fucking excited to show me how to use a gun instead of fuck me which is….which is why I thought I was coming here in the first place.”

Michael expects Ryan to be offended but Ryan just nods. “I want you safe so I thought maybe teaching you how to shoot would ease my mind on that. It was just an idea. And I can’t tell you why you are here, Michael, but I know why I want you here.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“I do want to have sex with you, but I also believe I would enjoy your company.”

Michael can’t help the slight blush on his cheeks. _Christ, Ryan knew how to charm the pants off someone._ “Griffon said I was doing this because I was starved of affection. What do you say to that?”

Ryan only shrugs. “Well, that could be true, but I don’t mind if you want to spend the time figuring that out with me.”

Michael thinks that will do. It’s all the assurance he needs for the night. They pass by several other rooms but Michael’s isn’t paying attention now. His eyes are on the prize so to speak.

Ryan stands outside his bedroom for a few moments before Michael makes a noise behind him. Once more, Ryan punches in a code and then the door opens. Michael isn’t exactly sure why someone would have a lock like that on their bedroom door but hey, Ryan was a secretive guy.

This is the only room in the house that isn’t completely spotless. There are a few pairs of tennis shoes scattered on the floor as well as several books laying on the floor, open on pages that had been marked. Ryan ducks his head sheepishly when he sees the large grin on Michael’s face.

“Well, I can’t be completely perfect. How would I improve?” Ryan winks, walking across the floor to scoop up the shoes before throwing them into his large closet. He leaves the books where they are though, not bothering to even close them. Michael doesn’t mind in the slightest, he doesn’t know what he would do if the room was as impossibly clean as the rest of the house.

“Make yourself comfortable.” Ryan offers as he tries to clean a bit. Michael nods, sitting down on the huge bed with it’s large leather quilted headboard. He undoes the laces of his shoes, pulling them off and praying that they don’t stink too badly of sweat. Unfortunately, they fucking reek so he tries to stuff his smelly socks into them as well hoping Ryan won’t get a whiff of the offending odor. He crawls onto the bed, leaning against what he thought would be a firm headboard but finds it to be soft and comfortable.

Pulling his legs up to his chest, Michael watches Ryan walk around in now just his white socks, blue jeans, and a white t-shirt. It is a simple and classic look but the way Ryan fills out his clothes make them look like he is in a Louis Vuitton suit.

“The room looks fine, Ryan. You should...you should come over here.” Michael says, trying his best to seduce Ryan into bed.

Ryan only grins as he nods. He crawls his way over to Michael. Cupping Michael’s face in his hands, Ryan leans down into the kiss. The sigh that escapes each of their lips causes them both to smile.

Ryan opens his mouth to say something but Michael glares up at him. “Don’t say a fucking word.”

“Alright, I won’t say anything along the lines of ‘isn’t this enough of an answer for all your questions?’” Ryan whispers softly, stroking his hands down Michael’s neck and to his shoulders.

“Oh god, please don’t say anything like that. That sounds absolutely ridiculous.” Michael groans, more so from an embarrassed standpoint than the delicious feel of Ryan’s hands rubbing his shoulders.

Michael melts into Ryan’s strong hands as the older man kneads at the tense muscles. Ryan sits down onto his own calves, so he is spread out on Michael’s lap as his hands make quick work of the knots in Michael’s shoulders.

“Do you know what a safe word is?” Ryan asks quietly, his hands moving down Michael’s right arm. Michael is far too lost in the feeling of being touched and eased of the stress that had built up in his body. “Michael.”

Michael blinked harshly. “Sorry, umm...safe word? No, I’m not familiar.”

Ryan nods, taking Michael’s hand in his. His fingers work diligently into Michael’s flesh. “I need you to pay attention now, please.”

“Right, attention.” Michael sighs, offering up his other hand for Ryan to massage. Ryan lets out a soft chuckle.

Ryan takes the hand softly, starting to give his attention to this hand now. “A safe word is a word or phrase said when you feel uncomfortable during an intense session of sex.”

“Ah, like in porn.”

“What porn are you watching that has safe words?” Ryan asks, completely surprised.

“It was this one series where they talked about that sort of stuff and when the guy said his word, the other guys didn’t stop.” Michael explains matter of factly, Ryan however doesn’t look as nonchalant about it. He drops Michael hands and grabs his chin like he had the first night they met.

“I will never do that. Understand me when I swear to you that I would never break your trust like that. Once you say your word, you are safe. You will not ---”

“Okay, _okay,_ Jesus Ryan, I get it!” Michael huffs, putting his hands up in defense. “Safe word equals safe, I got it.”

Ryan doesn’t look completely convinced but nods. “It doesn’t matter what it is, as long as it will bring both of our attention to it.”

“Like...tomato?”

“Sure, if you want it to be tomato, then it can be that.”

“That’s fucking strange, Ryan! Who the fuck says tomato in bed?” Michael glares.

“That’s the point, it needs to be jarring and understood.” Ryan explains but Michael isn’t sold. However, Ryan isn’t going to budge and Michael’s legs are about to go to sleep from the weight.

“What’s yours?” Michael counters.

Ryan looks caught off guard at that. “This isn’t about me.”

 _“Bullshit_ , you can’t give me a fucking spill about how goddamn important it is and then say you don’t have one.”

Ryan looks as if he had been found with his hand in the cookie jar, or the ‘i apparently don’t have a safe word’ jar. “I don’t have one.”

Michael looks straight into Ryan’s eyes and says with the most sarcasm ever. “Yeah, makes perfect sense why I need one but you don’t.”

“Don’t look at me like that.” Ryan sighs but Michael isn’t convinced. “Fine, I don’t have a safe word but I do have a physical reaction for when I have reached my limit.”

They both stare at each other for a long minute.

“And?!” Michael demands.

Ryan places his hand on Michael’s chest and then very slowly, pats his hand against it for three beats. Michael just sort of frowns. “That’s it?”

Ryan does it again and nods.

“Well, if we are having crazy dominatrix sex, how am I suppose to know that your hand is doing that?” Michael questions, his heart racing.

“You will just have to be in tune with what I want and need. We will have to communicate and you will have to read my body language.” Ryan explains as if it is simple.

“...yeah, I don’t think I will be able to do that if I am in the zone, if you know what I mean.”

“I think you are selling yourself short, but we won’t tackle it now. However, I want you to have a safe word because I don’t have sex unless I know my partner’s.” Ryan says firmly.

“Can I just have tomato, for right now? I don’t…really know what to say.” Michael whispers, embarrassed.

“Think of a word that makes you happy, that makes you feel safe.” Ryan says quietly, scratching his manicured fingers on the back of Michael’s neck, comforting him easily.

Michael closes his eyes as he tries to think of something and then blushes slightly when he finally comes up with the word. He wasn’t sure if this would work. Ryan seemed to be very serious about these safe words and this one was everything but serious. He doesn’t open his eyes when he whispers the word.

“Cupcake?”

“Good, I like it. It’s honest.” Ryan agrees as he moves off of Michael, his hands run down Michael’s legs rubbing to wake them up.

Michael opens his mouth to say something but he is being pulled down the bed and under Ryan’s looming form. Ryan leans down, kissing Michael deeply as he slides a leg between Michael’s. He rolls his hips down against Michael’s, his body solid and heavy but in a way that is comforting in the most suffocating way possible.

“If you need me to stop, just say so.” Ryan whispers, kissing across Michael’s cheek before breathing heavily into his ear.

“Wait, I thought that was what the safe word was for.” Michael wiggles, the hot air tickles.

“For when things get more intense. We haven’t worked up to that yet, I just needed to know it now.” Ryan breathes, sucking and biting at Michael’s ear. He pulls at it with his teeth, causing Michael to arch from the pressure.

With his fingers balling into Ryan’s white shirt, Michael tries not to moan already. It’s not like he thought about Ryan on countless nights before this. He already knows he is going to embarrass himself and come far too quickly than he wants.  

Ryan pushes up Michael’s shirt, kissing, licking, and biting down Michael’s chest. Michael can barely swallow as he tries to breathe over the sensations of Ryan’s weight, and teeth, and that deep scent of whatever Ryan uses on his body. He smells amazing.

Michael’s belt is undone with a quick motion before it is thrown across the room. Cursing himself for not taking a shower this morning, Michael hopes he doesn’t smell too funky. However, Ryan doesn’t say a word as those strong, nimble fingers pull harshly at his underwear and unbuttoned jeans. Michael leans his head up to say something witty but Ryan’s mouth slips over his cock and all words fall off his lips.

Ryan clearly has a lot of practice at this. Michael isn’t exactly ‘gifted’ in the genital department but he is you know...average. _He can clearly please a person, okay? Don’t get confused, alright?!_ But...anyway, Ryan is good. So fucking good. His lips stretch over Michael, his mouth accommodating his cock with such efficiency. Ryan raises his head back slowly, his tongue flat against the bottom vein of Michael’s hard cock.

He moves with such ease and confidence as his hand comes to cup Michael’s balls, rolling them lightly in his hands before pressing his thumb between them with gentle pressure. Michael’s moan is strangled out of him as he grabs at Ryan’s hair. His eyes roll back into his head when Ryan moans very lightly from the harsh way that Michael’s hands have a hold of his hair.

“Fuck, Ryan. Blow jobs aren’t suppose to be this good.” Michael groans, his hips bucking slightly. He can feel the tip of his cock hit the back of Ryan’s throat and he waits for the reprimand or the gag. Ryan doesn’t do either. He just breathes harshly out of his nose as he licks the tip of Michael’s cock.

Michael begins to think that if this is how all hitman suck cock then he understands why they have so many penpals in jail. Fuck. Ryan pulls back off his cock, his hand fondling Michael’s balls as he breathes over Michael’s begging cock.

“You okay?” Michael asks.

“Fine, just never expected you to agree to any of this.” Ryan breezes, nuzzling into the hair around Michael’s cock. He breathes in deeply, much to Michael’s embarrassment. He feels...treasured? _Ugh, what the fuck, Michael? Don’t go all soft._

“You are so--” Ryan starts but Michael bucks his hips to stop him.

“Don’t, fucking don’t Ryan.” Michael’s voice is loose and broken. He does NOT need that emotional shit, right now. He isn’t even close to being able to handle that sort of statement. Whatever, Ryan had planned on saying.

“Whatever, you want.” Ryan says as he nods and begins his glorious work again. He slips back down on Michael’s cock, pulling back up to suck and nip extremely lightly on the tip of Michael’s cock. With the way, Ryan’s hands are playing with his balls and the hot, wet suction that is Ryan’s mouth, Michael knows he is close. He can feel the warmth bubbling in his stomach and tingling its way down into his cock.

“Ryan, I’m close.” Michael warns, not wanting to come in Ryan’s mouth if he isn’t comfortable with that.

Ryan only grabs Michael’s cock with his free hand, pumping it fiercely to bring Michael to his climax. However, Ryan’s mouth doesn’t go very far. His head is held only an inch from the tip of Michael’s cock, waiting to catch the cum in his mouth. Michael thinks it’s probably the hottest thing he can ever imagine.

“Ryan.” Michael whimpers out, as he comes harshly. He tries to keep his eyes open to watch as some of this cum lands in Ryan’s mouth and onto his lips. He gets a full few of Ryan pulling back, running a hand through his soft brown hair as he licks Michael’s cum off his swollen lips though.

Michael’s mouth goes dry at the sight. “Fuck me.”

Ryan’s laugh is low in his chest as he covers Michael’s body with his own. Which means, Michael can feel how hard Ryan’s cock is straining against his jeans. “Soon.”

“Soon.” Michael swallows. Ryan’s head drops into Michael’s shoulder as he breathes harshly into the thin fabric of Michael’s shirt. The heat from his cock feels like it is going to burn a hole in Michael’s flesh. “Are you going to get off?”

“Yes, once I calm down.” Ryan pants out, causing Michael to frown.

“Why do you need to be calm?”

Ryan shakes his head pulling up so he is straddling Michael’s hips. He smiles down at him. “I don’t want to lose control.”

“Fuck that, come on. Come for me.” Michael demands, his voice strong. He wasn’t going to let Ryan deny himself an orgasm for some chivalrous control shit.

“While I appreciate the thought Michael, I really think I should --”

“I said _fuck that_. I’m not some pretty princess that needs to be handled with care. I want to you to come.”

Ryan smirks. “I would never consider you to be a pretty princess, Michael.”

Michael smacks Ryan’s thighs. “Stop changing the subject, asshole. Come on, unzip your pants.”

Ryan blinks at Michael’s completely determined face. He nods then, undoing the button of his jeans and pulling his zipper down. Now, Michael knew that Ryan was packing, he had felt it when Ryan had first laid on top of him so he is more than a little excited to see it in it’s full glory.

Michael notices that Ryan’s pubic hair is manicured as well. _Christ, was there anything this man didn’t make sure was completely clean and neat?_ It’s not an extreme case of manscaping, just enough to look well kept. That was the first thing that Michael noticed, the second is that Ryan goes commando. There is no underwear for him to pull himself out of. Instead, he reaches carefully into his jeans and pulls out his cock.

Now, Michael consumes a lot of media given how lonely he is. That includes porn. He’s seen a LOT of porn so when he says Ryan’s cock would fit in well in a porno, he fucking means it. It isn’t like those insane goddamn baby arm’s length and thickness that some guys have. It is the perfect length and thickness. Michael pictures fucking himself on it for hours. Christ, maybe Ryan would let him set up a camera and they could make their own sex tape. That would be hot as fuck. He is completely down for that. Ryan seems like he would be too.

The first long drag of Ryan’s hand down his own cock brings Michael crashing back to reality. Ryan is such a tightly wound man, you can see him like a wire too tightly twisted or a rattlesnake curled up to strike. However, with each stroke of his hand, Ryan is unraveling. His eyes take on a wild, paranoid look as if he is going to be trapped here and have to chew his own arm off. But his eyes won’t look into Michael’s. Michael tries to turn his head this way or that but Ryan’s gaze always goes somewhere else. 

_So that’s why you want control, so you don’t lose your own._ Michael thinks tragically. So he isn’t as unbreakable as he pretends to be. Michael understands that. He watches as Ryan’s hand shakes around his own cock, watches Ryan try to keep it all together.

Michael touches him then, like he did earlier. His hand is gentle when it touches Ryan’s wrist, rubbing small circles against the artery under the skin. Ryan’s stills for a moment before he calms under Michael’s touch.

This is something Michael could definitely do. He finally feels comfortable with where they are and his standing in this relationship. Ryan strokes his cock intensely, panting out between swollen, red lips as he tries to get himself off.

“Come on, Ryan.” Michael whispers, his other hand rubbing at Ryan’s quaking thighs. That is all it takes. Ryan groans harshly out as he comes all over Michael’s stomach and himself. He holds himself up for a few moments as if unsure what to do, but Michael pats the side of the bed. Ryan falls easily next to him, pulling at Michael to get as close as possible. Michael tucks his head into Ryan’s shoulder and breathes in his deep scent.

  
Yeah, this wasn’t as bad of a decision as he had thought it was after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was suppose to have about two more sex scenes but it is already huge so those are going to the next chapter. So have a few little extras. 
> 
> [The Soundtrack! ](http://8tracks.com/kniggit07/someone-like-you)
> 
> This is what Ryan's work car looks like. [The Work-mobile.](http://www.lotustalk.com/forums/attachments/f94/145386d1272583863-four-new-evoras-ardent-red.jpg) [The interior](https://s.blogcdn.com/www.autoblog.com/media/2011/06/lotus-evora-s---40.jpg)
> 
> Also, we run a tumblr for our fics and have wrote a lot about this series. So check out the links. 
> 
> Jack's role in GTA AU is [here](http://mogarsmadking.tumblr.com/post/82055704747/hi-guys-i-love-your-stories-ecstatic-doesnt-even). A long discussion of Ryan's sex life is [here](http://mogarsmadking.tumblr.com/post/81948579433/weve-been-asked-by-a-few-to-discuss-ryans-sex). And Ryan's life history is [here!](http://mogarsmadking.tumblr.com/post/80160613476/eee-no-no-dearie-never-ever-rude-at-all-i)


End file.
